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RATIVE OF EARLY EMIGRANT TRA^Et. 
ro CALIFORNIA BY THE OVC TEAM METHOD. 



CROSSING THE PLAINS 
DAYS OF 'S7 




- Crossing the Plains 
Days of '57 

A NARRATIVE OF EARLY EMIGRANT TRAVEL 

TO CALIFORNIA BY THE 

OX-TEAM METHOD 



.^i^ 



WM. AUDLEY MAXWELL 
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COPYRIGHT, 1915. BY 
WM AUDLEY MAXWELL 



«U>I3ET PUBUSHING HOU^'e 
SAN FRANCISCO MCM3C\'' 

MAV 3 1915 

0)a.A398637 IL 









CONTENTS 



PAGE 

List op Illustrations VI 

Foreword VII 

Chapter I. Forsaking the Old, in Quest of the 

New. First Camp. Fording the 

Platte 1 

Chapter II. Laramie Fashions and Sioux Eti- 
quette. A Trophy. Chimney 
Rock. A Solitary Emigrant. 

Jests and Jingles 13 

Chapter III. Lost in the Black Hills. Devil's 
Gate. Why a Mountain Sheep 
Did Not Wink. Green River 

Ferry 31 

Chapter IV. Disquieting Rumors of Redmen. 
Consolidation for Safety. The 
Poisonous Humboldt .... 49 
Chapter V. The Holloway Massacre ... 62 

Chapter VI. Origin of ' ' Piker, ' ' Before the Era 
of Canned Good and Kodaks. 
Morning Routine. Typical Biv- 
ouac. Sociability Entrained. The 
Flooded Camp. Hope Sustains 

Patience 76 

Chapter VII. Tangled by a Tornado. Lost the 
Pace but Kept the Cow. Human 
Oddities. Night Guards. Wolf 
Serenades. Awe of the Wilder- 
ness. A Stampede .... 97 
Chapter VIII. Disaster Overtakes the Wood Family 116 
Chapter IX. Mysterious Visitors. Extra Senti- 
nels. An Anxious Night . . 123 

Chapter X. Challenge to Battle 133 

Chapter XI. Sagebrush Justice 144 

Chapter XII. Night Travel. Arid Wastes to 

Limpid Waters 160 

Chapter XIIL Into the Settlements. Halt. . .170 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



PAGE 

* ' They started flight " Frontispiece 

** Fording the Platte consumed one entire day" . 11 

"Wo-haw-Buck" 14 

"From our coign of vantage we continued to 

shoot" 21 

Chimney Eock 22 

' * One melody that he sang from the heart " . . 27 

"Hauled the delinquent out" 30 

*■ ' The wagons were lowered through the crevice ' ' 38 

Bone-writing 57 

"With hand upraised in supplication, yielded to 

the impulse to flee " 67 

Jerry Bush, 1914 72 

Nancy Holloway, 1857 74 

The Author, twenty years after 100 

A Coyote Serenade 109 

"Van Diveer's advantage was slight but 

sufficient" 136 

"A sip from the barrel cost fifty cents " . . . 146 

" 'Stop,' shouted the Judge" 156 

" 'Melican man dig gold" 173 

Pack-mule route to placer diggings 175 



FOREWORD 

Diligent inquiry has failed to disclose 
the existence of an authentic and 
comprehensive narrative of a pioneer 
journey across the plains. With the 
exception of some improbable yarns 
and disconnected incidents relating to 
the earlier experiences, the subject has 
been treated mainly from the stand- 
point of people who traveled westward 
at a time when the real hardships and 
perils of the trip were much less than 
those encountered in the fifties. 

A very large proportion of the peo- 
ple now residing in the Far West are 
descendants of emigrants who came by 
the precarious means afforded by ox- 
team conveyances. For some three- 
score years the younger generations 



have heard from the lips of their ances- 
tors enough of that wonderful pil- 
grimage to create among them a wide- 
spread demand for a complete and 
typical narrative. 

This story consists of facts, with the 
real names of the actors in the drama. 
The events, gay, grave and tragic, are 
according to indelible recollections of 
eye-witnesses, including those of 

The Author. 
W. A. M., 

Ukiahy California, 1915. 



CROSSING THE PLAINS 
DAYS OF '57 



CHAPTER I. 

FORSAKING THE OLD IN QUEST OF 

THE NEW. FIRST CAMP. 

FORDING THE PLATTE. 

Vv^e left the west bank of the Mis- 
souri River on May 17, 1857. Our 
objective point was Sonoma County, 
California. 

The company consisted of thirty- 
seven persons, including several fam- 
ilies, and some others; the individuals 
ranging in years from middle age to 
babies: eleven men, ten women and 
sixteen minors; the eldest of the party 
forty-nine, the most youthful, a boy 
two months old the day we started. 
Most of these were persons who had 
resided for a time at least not far 
[1] 



Crossing the Plains 

from the starting point, but not all 
were natives of that section, some hav- 
ing emigrated from Indiana, Kentucky, 
Tennessee and Virginia. 

We were outfitted with eight wag- 
ons, about thirty yoke of oxen, fifty 
head of extra steers and cows, and ten 
or twelve saddle ponies and mules. 

The vehicles were light, well-built 
farm wagons, arranged and fitted for 
economy of space and weight. Most 
of the wagons were without brakes, 
seats or springs. The axles were of 
wood, which, in case of their breaking, 
could be repaired en route. Chains 
were used for deadlocking the wheels 
while moving down steep places. 

No lines or halters of any kind 
were used on the oxen for guiding 
them, these animals being managed en- 
tirely by use of the ox-whip and the 
'^ox-word.'' The whip was a braided 
leathern lash, six to eight feet long, 
the most approved stock for which was 
a hickory sapling, as long as the lash, 

[2] 



The Outfit 

and on the extremity of the lash was 
a strip of buckskin, for a ''cracker/' 
which, when snapped by a practiced 
driver, produced a sound like the re- 
port of a pistol. The purpose of the 
whip was well understood by the 
trained oxen, and that implement en- 
abled a skillful driver to regulate the 
course of a wagon almost as accurately 
as if the team were of horses, with the 
reins in the hands of an expert jehu. 

An emigrant wagon such as de- 
scribed, provided with an oval top 
cover of white ducking, with ''flaps'' in 
front and a "puckering-string" at the 
rear, came to be known in those days 
as a "prairie schooner;" and a string 
of them, drawn out in single file in the 
daily travel, was a "train." Trains 
following one another along the same 
new pathway were sometimes strung 
out for hundreds of miles, with spaces 
of a few hundred yards to several 
miles between, and were many weeks 
passing a given point. 

[3] 



Crossing the Plains 

Our commissary wagon was supplied 
with flour, bacon, coffee, tea, sugar, 
rice, salt, and so forth; rations esti- 
mated to last for five or six months, if 
necessary; also medical supplies, and 
whatever else we could carry to meet 
the probable necessities and the pos- 
sible casualties of the journey; with 
the view of traveling tediously but 
patiently over a country of roadless 
plains and mountains, crossing deserts 
and fording rivers ; meanwhile cooking, 
eating and sleeping on the ground as 
we should find it from day to day. 

The culinary implements occupied a 
compartment of their own in a wagon, 
consisting of such kettles, long-handled 
frying-pans and sheet-iron coffee pots 
as could be used on a camp-fire, with 
table articles almost all of tin. Those 
who attempted to carry the more 
friable articles, owing to the thumps 
and falls to which these were subjected, 
found themselves short in supply of 
utensils long before the journey ended. 

[4] 



The Start 

I have seen a man and wife drinking 
coffee from one small tin pan, their 
china and delftware having been left 
in fragments to decorate the desert 
wayside. 

We had some tents, but they were 
little used, after we learned how to do 
without them, excepting in cases of 
inclement weather, of which there was 
very little, especially in the latter part 
of the trip. 

During the great rush of immigra- 
tion into California subsequent to 
1849, from soon after the discovery of 
gold until this time, the usual date at 
which the annual emigrants started 
from the settlement borders along the 
Missouri River was April 15th to May 
1st. The Spring of 1857 was late, and 
we did not pull out until May 17th, 
when the prairie grass was grown 
sufficiently to afford feed for the stock, 
and summer weather was assured. 

At that time the boundary line be- 
tween the "States^' and the 'Tlains^' 

[5] 



Crossing the Plains 

was the Missouri River. We crossed 
that river at a point about half-way 
between St. Joseph and Council Bluffs, 
where the village of Brownville was 
the nucleus of a first settlement of 
white people on the Nebraska side. 
There the river was a half-mile wide. 
The crossing was effected by means of 
an old-fashioned ferryboat or scow, 
propelled by a small, stern-wheeled 
steamer. Two days were consumed in 
transporting our party and equipment 
across the stream; but one wagon and 
a few of the people and animals being 
taken at each trip of the ferryboat and 
steamer. 

From the landing we passed up the 
west shore twenty miles, seeing occa- 
sionally a rude cabin or a foundation 
of logs, indicating the intention of 
pre-empters. This brought us to the 
town of Nebraska City, then a begin- 
ning of a dozen or twenty houses, on 
the west bank. Omaha was not yet on 
the map ; although where that thriving 

[6] 



Leaving Civilization 

city now stands there existed then a 
settlement of something over one hun- 
dred persons. 

From Nebraska City we bore off 
northwesterly, separating ourselves 
from civilization, and thereafter saw 
no more evidence of the white man's 
purpose to occupy the country over 
which we traveled. 

There was before us the sky-bound 
stretch of undulating prairie, spread- 
ing far and wide, like a vast field of 
young, growing grain, its monotony 
relieved only by occasional clumps of 
small trees, indicating the presence of 
springs or small water-courses. 

Other companies or trains, from 
many parts of the country, especially 
the Middle States, were crossing the 
Missouri at various points between St. 
Louis and Council Bluffs ; most of them 
converging eventually into one general 
route, as they got out on the journey. 

It is perhaps impossible to convey a 
clear understanding of the emotions 

[7] 



Crossing the Plains 

experienced by one starting on such a 
trip; leaving friends and the familiar 
surroundings of what had been home, 
to face a siege of travel over thousands 
of miles of wilderness, so little known 
and fraught with so much of hardship 
and peril. 

The earlier emigrants, gold-hunters, 
men only — men of such stuff as pio- 
neers usually are made of — carried 
visions of picking up fortunes in the 
California gold mines and soon return- 
ing to their former haunts. But those 
who were going now felt that they 
were burning all bridges behind them; 
that all they had was with them, and 
they were going to stay. 

Formerly we had heard that Cali- 
fornia was good only for its gold 
mines; that it was a country of rocks, 
crags and deserts; where it rained 
ceaselessly during half of the year 
and not at all in the other half.* But 
later we had been told that in the val- 
leys there was land on which crops of 

[8] 



Anticipations 

wheat could be grown, and that cattle 
raising was good, on the broad acres 
of wild oats everywhere in the ^^cow 
counties/' It was told us also that 
there were strips of redwood forest 
along the coast, and these trees, a hun- 
dred to several hundred feet in height, 
could be split into boards ten to twenty 
feet long, for building purposes; and 
that this material was to be had by 
anybody for the taking. Some said 
that the Spanish padres, at their mis- 
sions in several localities near the 
Pacific shore, had planted small vine- 
yards of what had come to be known 
as the ''Mission'' grape, which pro- 
duced enormous crops. Another report 
told us that other fruits, including the 
orange and lemon varieties, so far as 
tried, gave promise of being valuable 



*A8 late as March, 1850, Daniel Webster said in 
the United States Senate: ** California is Asiatic in 
formation and scenery; composed of vast mountains 
of enormous height, with broken ridges and deep 
valleys. The sides of these mountains are barren — 
entirely barren — their tops capped by perennial 
snow. ' ' 

[9] 



Crossing the Plains 

products of the valley and foothill soils. 
Such stories gave rise to a malady 
called ^'California fever/' It was con- 
tagious, and carried off many people. 

Our first camp was on the open 
prairie, where grass grew about four 
inches high, and a small spring fur- 
nished an ample supply of water. 
Firewood we had brought with us for 
that night. The weather was very fine, 
and all were joyous at the novelty of 
^'camping out.'' 

On or about the eighth day we came 
to the Platte River; broad, muddy 
stream, at some points a mile or more 
in width ; shallow, but running rapidly, 
between low banks; its many small 
islands wholly covered by growths of 
Cottonwood trees and small willows. 
From these islands we obtained from 
time to time the fuel needed for the 
camp, as we took our course along the 
river's southerly shore; and occasion- 
ally added to the contents of the "grub" 
wagon by capturing an elk or deer 

[10] 



The Platte 

that had sought covert in the cool shade 
of these island groves. Antelope also 
were there, but too wary for our 
huntsmen. 




"Fording the Platte consumed one entire day" 

We forded the Platte at a point 
something like one hundred and fifty 
miles westward from its confluence 
with the Missouri. There was no road 
leading into the river, nor any evidence 
of its having been crossed by any one, 
[11] 



Crossing the Plains 

at that place. We were informed that 
the bottom was of quicksand, and ford- 
ing, therefore, dangerous. We tested 
it, by riding horses across. Contrary 
to our expectations, the bottom was 
found to be a surface of smooth sand, 
packed hard enough to bear up the 
wagons, when the movement was quick 
and continuous. A cut was made in 
the bank, to form a runway for pas- 
sage of the wagons to the water's edge ; 
and the whole train crossed the stream 
safely, with no further mishap than 
the wetting of a driver and the dipping 
of a wagon into a place deep enough 
to let water into the box. Fording the 
Platte consumed one entire day. We 
camped that night on the north shore. 
The train continued along the gen- 
eral course of the river about four hun- 
dred miles, as far as Fort Laramie, 
through open country, in which there 
was an abundance of feed for the 
animals, but where wood for fuel was 
scarce. 

[12] 



CHAPTER II. 

LARAMIE FASHIONS AND SIOUX ETI- 
QUETTE. A TROPHY. CHIMNEY 
ROCK. A SOLITARY EMIGRANT. 
JESTS AND JINGLES 

The Laramie and Sioux Indians were 
in those days the lords of that portion 
of the plains over which we traveled 
during the first several weeks. 

They were fine specimens of physical 
manhood. Tall, erect, well propor- 
tioned, they carried themselves with a 
distinct air of personal importance and 
dignity. They had not taken to the 
white man's mode of dress. Each had, 
in addition to his buckskin breeches 
and moccasins, a five-point Mackinaw 
blanket, these comprising for him a 
complete suit. The blanket he used as 
an outer garment, when needed, and 
for his cover at night. Many of the 

[13] 



Crossing the Plains 

more important ''big injins'* owned also 
a buffalo robe. This was the whole 
hide of the buffalo, with the hair on it, 




"Wo-haw-Buck" 

the inner side tanned to a soft, pliable 
leather, and the irregularities of its 
natural shape neatly cut away. It 
furnished the owner an excellent storm 

[14] 



Animal Life 

robe, sufficient protection, head to foot, 
in the severest weather. 

The Indians of these tribes that we 
met were friendly, even to familiarity. 
One of them would approach an emi- 
grant with a '^glad-to-meet-you'^ air, 
extending a hand in what was intended 
to be 'Svhite-man'' fashion. But *'Mr. 
Lo'^ was a novice in the art of hand- 
shaking, and his awkardness and mim- 
icking attempts in the effort were as 
amusing to us as satisfactory, appar- 
ently, to him. His vocal greeting, with 
slight variation from time to time, 
was in such words — with, little regard 
for their meaning — as he had caught 
from the ox-driving dialect of the 
passing emigrants : ^^Wo-haw-buck,'' 
'^Hello, John, got tobac?^^ If he added 
"Gim.me biskit,'' and 'Tappoose heap 
sick,'' he had about reached the limit of 
his English vocabulary. 

Large game was common along some 
parts of the way : buffalo, elk, antelope, 
deer, on the plains and hills; bear, 

[15] 



Crossing the Plains 

mountain lions, wildcats and other 
species in the mountainous sections. 
They were shy and not easy to take, 
but we captured a few of some vari- 
eties. Some members of the party dem- 
onstrated that fishing was good in the 
Rocky Mountain streams. Naturally 
the men were hopeful of securing speci- 
mens of the larger game, but our lack 
of experience and scarcity of proper 
equipment for the purpose were against 
the chance, though not to the extent of 
our entire disappointment. 

Only persons of much experience on 
the plains could form even an approx- 
imate estimate of the great number of 
buffaloes sometimes seen together. It 
has been stated that there were herds 
numbering more than fifty thousand. 
Such an aggregation would consume 
days in passing a given point, and in 
case of a stampede, all other animals 
in its path were doomed to destruction. 
A herd of buffaloes quietly grazing was 
sometimes difficult to distinguish, when 
ri6i 



A Buffalo Hunt 

viewed from a considerable distance, 
from a low forest ; their rounded bodies 
and the neutral tint of their shaggy 
coats giving them the appearance of 
bushes. 

When the train was nearing the fork 
of the Platte River a herd of buffaloes 
was seen, quietly grazing on the plain, 
a mile or more to the right, beyond a 
small water-course. 

Deciding we would try our prowess. 
Captain Maxwell and this narrator 
rode to the creek, at a point some dis- 
tance below the position of the herd, 
where we tied our horses, then crept 
along, under cover of the creek bank, 
till we had gone as near as possible, 
without being seen by the herd, distant 
from us not much more than a hundred 
yards. 

Cautiously peering above the edge of 
the bank, we selected a choice buffalo 
among those nearest us, and both fired. 
The entire herd galloped wildly away, 
continuing till all passed from view 

[17] 



Crossing the Plains 

over a hill some miles northward. Not 
one showed sign of having been hit. 

As we were about to leave the place, 
what should we see but a lonely buffalo, 
coming down the slope toward where 
we were, moving with leisurely tread 
and manner perfectly unconcerned. 
Notwithstanding our recent firing, this 
animal evidently had no suspicion 
of our presence. We remained and 
awaited his coming. 

He walked a few steps, then browsed 
a little, as if in no hurry about any- 
thing. Captain John and I felt our 
hope rise; we laid our plans and 
waited patiently. 

Just where the buffalo trail led down 
the bank of the creek, there were, as 
in many places near the stream, some 
scattered cottonwood and other trees. 
One of these that once stood on the 
brink had fallen till its top caught in 
the fork of another tree, and rested at 
a gentle incline upward from where it 
had grown. At the roots of this fallen 

[181 



Effective Shots 

tree we concealed ourselves, to wait, 
hoping that the big animal would come 
down to the water, but a few yards 
from us; for we guessed that he was 
one that had not yet had his drink from 
the brook that day, and was determined 
not to leave until he slaked his thirst. 

It was an anxious while of waiting, 
but not long. I was fearful that my 
hard-thumping heart-beats would be 
audible and frighten him away. Could 
it be true that I had an attack of 
*'buck-ague'^? Perish the thought. 

Finally his bovine majesty came 
lazily over the top of the bank, with a 
heavy, slow motion ; grunting and puff- 
ing, as if he were almost too heavy for 
his legs. When he got to the bottom of 
the bank and was about to drink. Cap- 
tain John whispered our agreed signal : 
**One, two, three;'' we fired, simultane- 
ously, and repeated. The big fellow 
stood still for a moment after the shots 
and looked about, with a slow move- 
ment and stolid gaze, turning his head 

[19] 



Crossing the Plains 

questioningly from side to side, as if he 
would say, ''I thought I heard some- 
thing pop/' 

Somehow we knew we had hit him, 
and we wondered why he did not fall. 
His little, black eyes rolled and glinted 
under his shaggy foretop. Then he 
seemed to swell; crouching slightly, as 
does a beast of prey when about to 
spring; lowered his head, pawed the 
earth and shook his mane. His whole 
body became vibrant with the obvious 
desire to fight, — and no antagonist in 
sight. Uttering a tremendous grunt, 
he arched his back again, stamping 
with all four feet, somewhat like the 
capers of a Mexican ''broncho'^ when 
preparing to buck''; then he snorted 
once more, with such explosive force as 
seemed to shake the tree beside which 
we were hidden, as he looked about for 
something to pitch into. 

By this time we thought we under- 
stood why a kind Providence had 

[20] 



A Prize Captured 

caused that cottonwood tree to lodge at 
such an angle that a buffalo could not 
climb it, but we could — and we did. 
Getting ourselves safely into the fork 




"From our coign of vantage we continued to shoot" 



of the tree, we continued to shoot from 
our coign of vantage till the big fellow 
dropped. When he ceased to kick or 
give any sign of belligerency, we came 

[21] 



Crossing the Plains 

down and approached him, carefully. 
Then we dressed him, or as much of 
him as we could carry in two bags that 
w^e had strapped behind our saddles, 
and rejoined the train after our people 
had gone into camp for the night. 



40 - ■ y-^ 

r 




Chimney Rock 



We had our first buffalo steak for 
supper that night. We also nad the 
satisfaction of observing signs of jeal- 
ousy on the part of the other men who 
had never killed a buffalo. 

One of the first natural curiosities 
we saw was Chimney Rock; a vertical 

[22] 



Pike's Peak Afar 

column of sandstone something like 
forty feet high, with a rugged stone 
bluff rising abruptly near it Its ap- 
pearance, from our distant view, re- 
sembled a stone chimney from which 
the building had been burned away, as 
it stood, solitary on the flat earth at 
the south side of the Platte River, we 
traveling up the north shore. Such a 
time-chiseled monument was a novelty 
to us then. To the early emigrants it 
was the first notable landmark. 

While some distance farther west, as 
we scaled the higher slopes, we could 
see to the southward the snow-capped 
peaks of that region which long after- 
ward was taken from western Ne- 
braska to become the Territory of 
Colorado, and later still, the State of 
that name. Looking over and past the 
locality where, more than a year there- 
after, the town of Denver was laid out, 
we saw, during several weeks, the 
summit of Pike's Peak, hundreds of 
mxiles away. 

[23] 



Crossing the Plains 

One evening when we were going 
into camp we were overtaken by a man 
trundling a push-cart. This vehicle 
had between its wheels a box containing 
the man's supplies of food and camp 
articles, with the blankets, which were 
in a roll, placed on top; all strapped 
down under an oilcloth cover. 

With this simple outfit, pushed in 
front of him, this man was making 
his way from one of the Eastern 
States to California, a distance of more 
than three thousand miles. He was of 
medium size, athletic appearance, with 
a cheerful face. He visited us over- 
night. The next morning he was in- 
vited to tie his cart behind one of our 
wagons and ride with us. He replied 
that he would be pleased to do so, but 
was anxious to make all possible speed, 
and felt that he could not wait on the 
progress of our train, which was some- 
what slower than the pace he main- 
tained. It was said that he was the 
first man who made the entire trip on 

[24] 



Youthful Exuberance 

foot and alone, from coast to coast, as 
we were afterwards informed he suc- 
ceeded in doing. 

From time to time the tedium was 
dispelled by varied incidents; many 
that were entertaining and instructive, 
some ludicrous, some pathetic, and 
others profoundly tragic. Agreeable 
happenings predominated largely dur- 
ing the early stages, and those involv- 
ing difficulties and of grave import 
were mainly a part of our experiences 
toward the close of the long pilgrimage. 
Such an order of events might be pre- 
sumed as a natural sequence, as the 
route led first over a territory not 
generally difficult to travel, but farther 
and farther from established civiliza- 
tion, into rougher lands, and toward 
those regions where outlawry, common 
to all pioneer conditions, was prevalent. 

With our company were four or 
five boys and young men, eighteen to 
twenty-one years of age, also a kindly 
and unpretentious but droll young fel- 

[25] 



Crossing the Plains 

low, named John C. Aston, whose age 
was about twenty-five. This younger 
element was responsible for most of 
the occurrences of lighter vein, which 
became a feature of our daily progress. 
Aston's intimate friends called him 
''Jack,'' and some of the more face- 
tious ones shortened the cognomen 
''Jack Aston" by dropping the "ton," 
inconsiderately declaring that the 
briefer appellation fitted the man, even 
better than did his coat, which always 
was loose about the shoulders and too 
long in the sleeves. But all knew 
"Jack" to be an excellent fellow. His 
principal fault, if it could be so termed, 
was a superabundance of good-nature, 
a willingness at all times to joke and 
be joked. He had a fund of stories — 
in some of which he pictured himself 
the hero — with which he was wont to 
relieve the tedium of the evening 
hours. A violin was among his effects, 
which he played to accompany his 
singing of entertaining countryside 

[26] 



Songs and Stories 

songs. Most of these were melodious, 
and highly descriptive. ''Jack'' had 
much music in his soul, and sang with 
good effect. 

There was one melody that he sang 
oftenest, and sang from the heart — 




"One melody that he sang from the heart" 

one that was rendered nightly, regard- 
less of any variation in the program; 
a composition that embraced seventeen 
verses, each followed by a soothing 
lullaby refrain; a song which, every 
time he sang it, carried ''Jack'' again 
to his old home in the Sunny South, 

[27] 



Crossing the Plains 

and seemed to give him surcease from 
all the ills of life. Of that song a 
single verse is here reproduced, with 
deep regret that the other sixteen are 
lost, with all except a small fraction of 
the tune. Yet, cold, inanimate music 
notes on the paper would convey, to 
one who never heard him sing them, 
only the skeleton; the life, sympathy 
and soul of the song would be lacking. 
We needed no other soporific. Here 
it is: 

Oh, the days of bygone joys, 

They never will come back to me; 

When I was with the girls and boys, 
A-courting, down in Tennessee. 

Ulee, ilee, aloo, ee — 
Courting, down in Tennessee. 

It was ''Jack's'' habit to allow his 
head to hang to the left, due, pre- 
sumably, to much practice in holding 
down the large end of his violin with 
his chin. He was prone to sleep a 
great deal, and even as he sat in the 
driver's seat of a "prairie-schoner," 
or astride a mule, the attitude de- 

[28] 



Jokes, Highly Practical 

scribed often resulted in his being ac- 
cused of napping while on duty. The 
climatic conditions peculiar to the 
plains, and the slow, steady movement 
of the conveyances, were conducive to 
drowsiness, in consequence of which 
everybody was all the time sleepy. 
But ''Jack'' was born that way, and 
the very frequent evidences of it in 
his case led to a general understand- 
ing that, whenever he was not in sight, 
he was hidden away somewhere asleep. 

"Jack's'' amiability, too, was a per- 
manent condition. Apparently no one 
could make him angry or resentful. 
For this reason, he was the target for 
many pranks perpetrated by the boys. 
Like this: 

One evening ''Jack" took his blan- 
ket and located for the night at a spot 
apart from the others of the company, 
under a convenient sage bush. The 
next morning he was overlooked until 
after breakfast. When the time came 
for hitching the teams, he was not at 

[29] 



Crossing the Plains 

his post. A search finally revealed 
him, still rolled in his bedding, fast 
asleep. When several calls failed to 




"Hauled the delinquent out" 

arouse him, one of the boys tied an 
end of a rope around ''Jack's'' feet, 
hitched a pair of oxen to the other 
end, and hauled the delinquent out 
some distance on the sand. ''Jack" 
sat up, unconcernedly rubbed his eyes, 
then began untying the rope that 
bound his feet, his only comment 
being — 

"Ulee, ilee, aloo, ee; 

Courting, down in Tennessee." 

[30] 



CHAPTER III. 

LOST IN THE BLACK HILLS. DEVIL'S 

GATE. WHY A MOUNTAIN SHEEP 

DID NOT WINK. GREEN 

RIVER FERRY. 

At Fort Laramie we left the Platte 
River, and, bearing northwesterly, en- 
tered the Black Hills, a region of low, 
rolling uplands, sparsely grown with 
scrubby pine trees; the soil black, very 
dry; where little animal life was vis- 
ible, excepting prairie dogs. 

There may be readers who, at the 
mention of prairie dogs, see mentally 
a wolf or other specimen of the gemts 
caniSy of ordinary kind and size. The 
prairie dog, however, is not of the 
dog species. It bears some resem- 
blance to a squirrel and a rat, but is 
larger than either. It may be likened 
to the canine only in that it barks, 

[31] 



Crossing the Plains 

somewhat as do small dogs. Prairie 
dogs live in holes, dug by themselves. 
Twenty to fifty of these holes may be 
seen within a radius of a few yards, 
and such communities are known to 
plains people as ''towns." On the ap- 
proach of anything they fear the little 
fellows sit erect, look defiant and chat- 
ter saucily. If the intruder comes 
too near, the commanding individual 
of the group, the mayor of the town, 
so to speak, gives an alarm, plainly 
interpreted as, "Beware; make safe; 
each man for himself;" and instantly 
each one turns an exquisite somersault 
and disappears, as he drops, head 
downward, into the hole beside him. 

John L. Maxwell had made the trip 
over the plains from the Missouri 
River to California in 1854, returning, 
via Panama, in 1856, to take his family 
to the West, accompanying the train 
of his elder brother. Dr. Kennedy 
Maxwell. He was of great service to 
us now, by reason of his experience 

[32] 



Off the Trail 

and consequent knowledge of the coun- 
try traversed. He was therefore 
elected to act as pilot of the company, 
with the title ''Captain John/' which 
clung to him for many years. 

The emigrant trail in some parts of 
the way was well marked. In other 
places there was none, and we had to 
find our way as best we could, not 
always without difficulty. Often Cap- 
tain John and others would ride ahead 
of the train a considerable distance, 
select routes for passage through 
places where travel was hard or risky, 
choose camp-sites, and, returning, pilot 
the train accordingly. 

At various times, despite every care 
in selecting the route, the train went 
on a wrong course, and at least once 
was completely astray. This was one 
morning as the company was passing 
out of the Black Hills country. Infor- 
mation had been received that at this 
place a short-cut could be made which 
would save fifteen or twenty miles. 

[33] 



Crossing the Plains 

There were no marks on the ground 
indicating that any train ahead had 
gone that way, but the leaders decided 
to try it. This venture led the com- 
pany into a situation not unlike the 
proverbial ''jumping-off place.'' 

Directly in our course was a decliv- 
ity which dropped an estimated depth 
of sixty to one hundred feet below the 
narrow, stony flat on which we stood, 
down into a depressed valley. Abrupt 
ridges of broken stone formation were 
on our right and left, inclosing us in 
a small space of barren, waste earth. 
The elements had crumbled the rocks 
down for ages, until what perhaps had 
been once a deep canyon was now a 
narrow flat, a mass of debris, termi- 
nating at the top of the steep, ragged 
cliff that pitched downward before us. 
The high, rocky ridges on both sides 
were wholly impassable, at least for 
the teams. A search finally disclosed, 
at the base of the ridge on our right, 
a single possible passage. It was nar- 

[34] 



Passage Barred 

row, slightly wider than a wagon, and 
led downward at a steep incline, into 
the valley below, with rocks protrud- 
ing from both its side walls, its bottom 
strewn with stones such as our vehicles 
could not pass over in an ordinary 
way. 

We were confronted with the prob- 
lem how to get the wagons down that 
yawning fissure; the alternative being 
to retrace our steps many miles. 

At the bottom of this cliff or wall 
that barred our way could be seen a 
beautiful valley, stretching far and 
wide away to the northwest; a scene 
of enchanting loveliness, a refreshing 
contrast to the dry and nearly barren 
hills over which we had traveled dur- 
ing the many days last past. A short 
distance from the foot of the wall was 
a small stream of clear water, running 
over the meadow-flat. Rich pasture 
extended along the line of trees that 
marked the serpentine course of the 
brook which zigzagged its way toward 

[35] 



Crossing the Plains 

the southwest. Every man, woman 
and child of our company expressed in 
some way the declaration, ''We must 
get into that beautiful oasis/' It 
looked like field, park and orchard, in 
one landscape; all fenced off from the 
desolate surroundings by this wall 
of stone. Like Moses viewing Canaan 
from Nebo's top, we looked down and 
yearned to be amidst its freshness. 

It was not decreed that we should 
not enter in. A little distance to the 
south, near the other ridge, we discov- 
ered another opening, through which 
the animals could be driven down, but 
through which the wagons could not 
pass. This was a narrow, crooked 
ravine, and very steep; running diag- 
onally down through the cliff; a sort 
of dry water-way, entirely bridged 
over in one part by an arch of stone, 
making it there a natural tunnel or 
open-ended cave; terminating at the 
base of the cliff in an immense door- 
way, opening into the valley. 

[36] 



Overcoming Obstacles 

The teams were unhitched from the 
wagons, the yokes taken off the oxen, 
and all the cattle, horses and mules 
were driven through the inclined tun- 
nel into the coveted valley. The women 
and children clambered down, taking 
with them what they could of the camp 
things, for immediate use, and soon 
were quite "at home'^ in the valley, 
making free use of the little creek, for 
whatever purposes a little creek of 
pure, cold, fresh water is good, for a 
lot of thirsty, dust-covered wayfarers. 

The puzzle of getting the wagons 
down next engrossed the attention of 
our best engineers. The proposition to 
unpack the lading, take the wagons 
apart, and carry all down by hand, 
appeared for a time to be the only 
feasible plan. Captain John, however, 
suggested procuring rope or chain 
about one hundred feet in length, for 
use in lowering the wagons, one at a 
time, through the first-mentioned pas- 
sage. Sufficient rope was brought, one 

[37] 



Crossing the Plains 

end fastened to the rear axle of a 
wagon, the other end turned around a 
dwarf pine tree at the top of the bluff ; 
two men managed the rope, preventing 




■mmMi 



"The wagons were lowered through the crevice" 



too rapid descent at the steeper places, 
while others guided the wheels over 
the stones, and the wagon was low- 
ered through the crevice, with little 
damage. Thus, one by one, all the 

1381 



Descending the Steep 

wagons were taken into the valley be- 
fore the sun set. 

It was a happy camp we had that 
night; though every man was tired. 
There was wood for fire, and a supply 
of good water and pasture sufficient 
for dozens of camps. Some one ven- 
tured the opinion that the Mormon 
pioneers had overlooked that spot when 
seeking a new location for Zion. 

Except that it was very pleasant to 
inhabit, we knew little of the place we 
had ventured into, or its location. How 
we were to get out did not appear, nor 
for the time being did this greatly con- 
cern us; and soon after supper the 
camp was wrapped in slumber, undis- 
turbed by any coyote duet, or, on this 
occasion, even the twitter of a night 
bird. 

We did not hurry the next morning, 
the inclination being to linger awhile 
in the shady grove by the brookside. 
With a late start, the day's travel took 
us some twelve miles, through and 

[391 



Crossing the Plains 

out of the valley, to a point where we 
made the best of a poor camping place, 
on a rough, rocky hillside. The fol- 
lowing day there was no road to follow, 
nor even a buffalo trail or bear path; 
but by evening we somehow found our 
way back into the course usually fol- 
lowed by emigrants, not knowing 
whether the recent detour had lessened 
or increased the miles of travel, but 
delighted with the comfort and diver- 
sion afforded by the side-ride. Think- 
ing that others, seeing our tracks, 
might be led into similar difficulties, 
and be less fortunate perhaps in over- 
coming them, two of our young men 
rode back to the place of divergence, 
and erected a notice to all comers, ad- 
vising them to ''Keep to the right." 

Another freak of Nature in v/hich 
we were much interested was the 
"DeviFs Gate,'' or ''Independence 
Rock," where we first came to the 
Sweetwater River, in Wyoming, This 
is a granite ridge, some two hundred 

[40] 



Independence Rock 

feet in length, irregular in formation 
and height, resembling a huge mole- 
hill, extending down from the Rocky 
Mountain heights and being across the 
river's course; the ''Gate'' being a ver- 
tical section, the width of the stream, 
cut out of a spur of Rattlesnake Moun- 
tain. If his Satanic majesty, whose 
name it bears, had charge of the con- 
struction, apparently he intended it 
only as a passage-way for the river, 
the cut being the exact width of the 
river as it flows through. The greater 
part of the two walls stand two hun- 
dred and fifty feet high, above the 
river level, perpendicular to the earth's 
plane, facing each other, the river 
between them at the base. Many 
names had been cut in the surface of 
the rock, by passing emigrants. 

We stopped for half a day to view 
this extraordinary scene. Some of the 
boys went to the apex, to see if the 
downward view made the rock walls 
appear as high as did the upward 

[411 



Crossing the Plains 

view: and naturally they found the 
distance viewed downward seemed 
much greater. Our intention was to 
stand on the brink and experience the 
sensation of looking down from that 
great height at the river. The face 
of the wall v/here it terminates at the 
top forms an almost square corner, as 
if hewn stone. A few bushes grew a 
short distance from the edge, and as 
we approached the brink there was a 
sense of greater safety in holding onto 
these bushes. But while holding on we 
could not see quite over to the water 
below. We formed a chain of three 
persons, by joining hands, one grasp- 
ing a large bush, that the outer man 
might look over the edge — if he would. 
But he felt shaky. He was not quite 
sure that the bush would not pull up 
by the roots, or one of the other fellows 
let go. For sometime no one was wil- 
ling to make a real effort to look over 
the edge, but finally ''Jack'' said he 
v/ould save the party's reputation for 

[42] 



Viewing DeviVs Gate 

bravery, by assuming the role of end- 
man. He made several bold approaches 
toward the edge, but each time re- 
coiled, and soon admitted defeat, 
''Boys,'' said he, 'Tm dizzy. I know 
that 'distance lends enchantment'; I'll 
get back farther, take the best view 
I can get, and preserve the enchant- 
ment." To cover his discomfiture, he 
started for camp, whistling: 
"Ulee, ilee, aloo, ee." 
The next excursion off the route in 
search of novelty was on a clear after- 
noon a few days after passing the 
"Devil's Gate," when three young fel- 
lows decided to take a tramp to the 
rock ridge lying to our right. We 
hoped to find some mountain sheep. 
From the Sweetwater River to the 
ridge was apparently half a mile, 
across a grassy flat. We knew that 
the rare atmosphere of that high alti- 
tude often made distances deceiving, 
and determined to make due allow- 
ances. Having crossed the river and 

[43] 



Crossing the Plains 

being ready for a sprint, each made a 
guess of the distance to the foot of the 
rock ridge. The estimates varied from 
two hundred yards to three hundred. 
Off we went, counting paces. At the 
end of three hundred we appeared to 
be no nearer the goal than when we 
started. The guesses were repeated, 
and when we were about completing 
the second course of stepping, making 
nearly six hundred yards in all, one of 
the boys espied a mountain sheep on 
the top of the ridge, keeping lookout, 
probably, for the benefit of his fellows, 
feeding on the other side, as is the 
habit of these wary creatures. 

With head and great horns clearly 
outlined on the background of blue 
sky, he was a tempting target. With- 
out a word, the three of us leveled 
guns and fired. Mr. Mountain Sheep 
stood perfectly still, looking down at 
us. We could not see so much as the 
winking of an eye. Making ready for 
another volley, we though best to get 

[44] 



A Tempting Target 

nearer; but as we started the head 
and horns and sheep disappeared be- 
hind the top of the ridge. Further 
stepping proved that we had shot at 
the animal from a distance of at least 
half a mile. Our guns were good for 
a range of two hundred yards, at most. 
Much of the time, especially while 
in the higher mountains, we were in 
possession of little knowldege of our 
position. There were no marks that 
we observed to indicate geographical 
divisions, and we had no means for 
determining many exact locations, 
though some important rivers and 
prominent mountain peaks and ridges 
were identified. We knew little, if 
anything, then of territorial bounda- 
ries, and thought of the country tra- 
versed as being so remote from cen- 
ters of civilization — at that time but 
little explored, even — that we could 
not conceive any object in attempting 
to determine our location with refer- 
ence to geographical lines; nor could 

[45] 



Crossing the Plains 

we have done so except on rare occa- 
sions. Our chief concern was to know 
that we were on the best route to 
California. 

We crossed the summit of the Rocky 
Mountains by the South Pass. Though 
it was July, the jagged peaks of the 
Wind River Mountains bore a thick 
blanket of snow. Sometime after leav- 
ing the ''DeviFs Gate'' we passed 
Pacific Springs. There we gained first 
knowledge that we had passed the 
summit, on observing that the streams 
flowed westerly. Patient plodding had 
now taken us a distance of actual 
travel amounting to much more than 
one thousand miles and, from time to 
time, into very high altitudes. About 
four miles west of Pacific Springs we 
passed the junction of the California 
and Oregon trails, at the Big Bend of 
the Bear River. 

Green River, where we first came 
to it, was in a level bit of country. 
There this stream was about sixty 

[46] 



The Log Raft 

yards wide; the water clear and deep, 
flowing in a gentle current. For the 
accommodation of emigrants, three 
men were there, operating a ferry. 
Whence they came I do not remember, 
if they told us. We saw no signs of a 
habitation in which they might have 
lived. The ferrying was done with 
what was really a raft of logs, rather 
than a boat. It was sustained against 
the current by means of a tackle at- 
tached to a block, rove on a large rope 
that was drawn taut, from bank to 
bank, and was propelled by a wind- 
lass on each bank. When a wagon had 
been taken aboard this cable ferry, the 
windlass on the farther side was 
turned by one of the men, drawing the 
raft across. After unloading, the raft 
was drawn back, by operation of the 
windlass on the opposite shore, where 
it took on another load. The third 
man acted as conductor, collecting a 
toll of three dollars per wagon. All 
the horses, mules and cattle were 

[471 



Crossing the Plains 

driven into the river, and swam across. 
The company passed along the shore 
of the Green River, down the Big 
Sandy River and Slate Creek, over 
Bear River Divide, then southwest- 
ward into Utah Territory. 



[4«] 



CHAPTER IV. 

DISQUIETING RUMORS OF REDMEN. CON- 
SOLIDATION FOR SAFETY. THE 
POISONOUS HUMBOLDT. 

Soon after passing the summit of 
the Rocky Mountains there were ru- 
mors of a hostile attitude toward emi- 
grants on the part of certain Indian 
tribes farther west. For a time such 
information seemed vague as to origin 
and reliability, but in time the rumors 
became persistent, and there developed 
a feeling of much concern, first for 
the safety of our stock, later for our 
own protection. 

Measures of precaution were dis- 
cussed. Men of our train visited those 
of others, ahead and behind us, and 
exchanged views regarding the prob- 
ability of danger and the best means 
for protection and defense. We were 

[491 



Crossing the Plains 

forced to the conclusion that the situa- 
tion was grave; and the interests of 
the several trains were mutual. As 
the members of the different parties, 
most of whom previously had been 
strangers to one another, met and 
talked of the peril which all believed 
to be imminent, they became as broth- 
ers; and mutual protection was the 
theme that came up oftenest and was 
listened to with the most absorbing 
interest. 

By the time we had crossed the 
Green River these consultations had 
matured into a plan for consolidation 
of trains, for greater concentration of 
strength. A. J. Drennan^s company 
of four or five wagons, immediately 
ahead of us, and the Dr. Kidd train, 
of three wagons, next behind us, closed 
up the space between, and all three 
traveled as one train. Thus combined, 
a considerable number of able-bodied 
men were brought together, making a 
rather formidable array for an ordi- 

[50] 



SeriO'Comic 

nary band of Indians to attack. Every 
man primed his gun and thenceforth 
took care to see that his powder was 
dry. 

Still the youthful element occasion- 
ally managed to extract some humor 
out of the very circumstances which 
the older and more serious members 
held to be grounds for forebodings of 
evil. One morning after we had left 
camp, a favorite cow was missing 
from the drove. ''Jack'' Aston and 
Major Crewdson, both young fellows, 
rode back in search of the stray. From 
a little hill-top they saw, in a ravine 
below, some half dozen Indians busily 
engaged in skinning the cow. ''Jack" 
and the Major returned and merely 
reported what they had seen. They 
were asked why they had not de- 
manded of those "rascally" Indians 
that they explain why they v/ere skin- 
ning a cow that did not belong to 
them. "Jack" promptly answered 
that, as for himself, he had never been 

[511 



Crossing the Plains 

introduced to this particular party of 
Indians, and was not on speaking 
terms with them; furthermore, neither 
he nor the Major had sufficient knowl- 
edge of the Indian language properly 
to discuss the matter with them. 

The route pursued led to the north 
of Great Salt Lake, thence northwest- 
erly. Our line of travel did not there- 
fore bring us within view of the Mor- 
mon settlements which had already 
been established at the southerly end 
of the great inland sea. 

We camped one night approximately 
where the city of Ogden now stands, 
then a desolate expanse of sand-dunes. 
A group of our men sat around the 
camp-fire that evening, discussing the 
probability of a railroad ever being 
constructed over the route we were 
traveling. All of them were natives 
or recent residents of the Middle West, 
and it is probable that not one had 
ever seen a railroad. The unanimous 
opinion was that such a project as the 

[52] 



Railroad Here? Never! 

building of a railroad through terri- 
tory like that over which we had thus 
far traveled would be a task so stu- 
pendous as to baffle all human ingenu- 
ity and skill. Yet, some twelve years 
later, the ceremony of driving the 
famous ''last spike," completing the 
railroad connection between the At- 
lantic and Pacific, was performed on a 
sand flat very near the spot where we 
camped that night. The intervening 
period saw the establishment of the 
''pony express,'' which greatly facili- 
tated the mail service (incidentally re- 
ducing letter postage to Pacific Coast 
points from twenty-five to ten cents). 
That service continued from the early 
sixties until through railroad connec- 
tion was made. 

After the consolidation of trains as 
described, our next neighbor to the 
rear was Smith Holloway, whose "out- 
fit'' consisted of three wagons, with a 
complement of yokewise oxen and some 
horses and mules; also a large drove 

[53] 



Crossing the Plains 

of stock cattle, intended for the mar- 
ket in California, where it was known 
they would be salable at high prices. 
He had with him his wife, a little 
daughter, and Jerry Bush, Mrs. Hol- 
loway's brother, a young man of 
twenty-one years; also two hired men, 
Joe Elevens and Bird Lawles. Hollo- 
way kept his party some distance be- 
hind us, he having declined to join the 
consolidation of trains in order to 
avoid the inconvenience that the min- 
gling of his stock with ours would 
entail, with reference to pasture, and 
camping facilities. 

A mile or two behind Holloway were 
the trains of Captain Rountree, the 
Giles company, Simpson Fennell, Mr. 
Russell, and others, equipped with sev- 
eral wagons each, and accompanied by 
some loose stock. 

All these were traveling along, a 
sort of moving neighborhood; inci- 
dentally getting acquainted with one 
another, visiting on the road by day 

[54] 



Plans for Defence 

and in the camp at evening time ; talk- 
ing of the journey, of the country for 
which we were en route, and our hopes 
of prosperity and happiness in the new 
El Dorado — but most of all, just then, 
of the probable danger of attack by 
savage tribes. 

More than ever rumors of impend- 
ing trouble were flying from train to 
train. Some of these were to the effect 
that white bandits were in league with 
Indians in robbing and murdering 
emigrants. The well-known treachery 
of the savages, and the stories we 
heard of emigrants having been 
slaughtered also by whites — the real 
facts of which we knew little of — were 
quite enough to beget fear and suggest 
the need of plans for the best pos- 
sible resistance. 

Up to this time there was frequent 
communication between trains, a con- 
siderable distance ahead and behind. 
As at home, neighbor would visit 
neighbor, and discuss the topics of the 

[55] 



Crossing the Plains 

day; so, from time to time we met 
persons in other trains who gave out 
information obtained before leaving 
home, or from mountaineers, trappers 
or explorers, occasionally met while 
we were yet on the eastern slope of 
the Rockies; men who were familiar 
with Indian dialects and at peace with 
the tribes, enabling them to learn 
much that was of importance to the 
emigrants. 

Dissemination of news among the 
people of the various trains near us 
was accomplished not only during 
visits by members of one train to those 
of another, but sometimes by other 
methods. One of these, which was 
frequently employed in communicat- 
ing generally or in signaling individ- 
uals known to be somewhere in the 
line behind us, was by a system of 
'^ hone-writing y 

There were along the line of travel 
many bare, bleached bones of animals 
that had died in previous years, many 

[56 1 



Messages in Unique Form 

of them doubtless the animals of ear- 
lier emigrants. Some of these, as for 
example, the frontal or the jaw-bone, 




Bone-writing 



whitened by the elements, and having 
some plain, smooth surface, were excel- 
lent tablets for pencil writing. An 
emigrant desiring to communicate with 
another, or with a company, to the 

[57] 



Crossing the Plains 

rear, would write the message on one of 
these bones and place the relic on a 
heap of stones by the roadside, or 
suspend it in the branches of a sage 
bush, so conspicuously displayed that 
all coming after would see it and read. 
Those for general information, in- 
tended for all comers, were allowed 
to remain; others, after being read by 
the person addressed, were usually re- 
moved. Sometimes when passing such 
messages, placed by those ahead of us, 
we added postscripts to the bulletins, 
giving names and dates, for the edifi- 
cation of whomever might care to read 
them. It was in this way that some 
of the developments regarding the 
Indian situation were made known by 
one train to another. 

Thus we progressed, counting off 
the average of about eighteen miles a 
day from the long part of the journey 
that still lay before us, when we 
reached Thousand Springs, adjacent to 
the present boundary line between 

[58] 



A Dreaded Locality 

Utah and Nevada. This, we were told, 
was the source of the Humboldt River. 
We were told, too, that the four hun- 
dred miles down the course of that 
peculiar stream — which we could not 
hope to traverse in much less than one 
month — we would find to be the most 
desert-like portion of the entire trip, 
the most disagreeable and arduous, for 
man and beast. Such was to be ex- 
pected by reason of the character of 
that region and the greater danger 
there of Indian depredations; also be- 
cause the passage through that section 
was to be undertaken after our teams 
had become greatly worn, therefore 
more likely to fail under hard condi- 
tions. Furthermore, scarcity of feed 
for the stock was predicted, and, along 
much of the way, uncertainty as to 
water supply, other than that from 
the Humboldt River, which was, espe- 
cially at that time of the year, so 
strongly impregnated with alkali as 
to be dangerous to life. 

[59] 



Crossing the Plains 

Nearly all the face of the country 
was covered with alkali dust, which, 
in a light, pulverulent state, rose and 
filled the air at the slightest breeze or 
other disturbance. It was impossible 
to avoid inhaling this powder to some 
extent, and it created intense thirst, 
tending toward exhaustion and great 
suffering. We knew that sometimes 
delirium was induced by this cause, 
and even death resulted from it in 
cases of very long exposure under the 
worst conditions. 

Sometimes for miles the only vege- 
table growth we found along the river 
was a string of willow bushes, fring- 
ing its course, and scattered, stunted 
sagebrush, growing feebly in gravel 
and dry sand, the leaves of which were 
partly withered and of a pale, ashy 
tint. Feed for the animals was very 
scarce. It was not possible, over much 
of the way, to get sufficient fresh 
water for the stock, therefore difficult 
to restrain them from drinking the 

[60] 



Desolation 

river water. Some did drink from 
that stream, despite all efforts to pre- 
vent it, the result being that many of 
them died while we made our way 
along the sluggish Humboldt. 



61 



CHAPTER V. 

THE HOLLOWAY MASSACRE. 

It was decided that while in this 
region we would, whenever possible, 
make our camp some distance from the 
river, in order that the stock might be 
prevented from drinking the danger- 
ous river water, also for the reason 
that the clumps of willows by the 
stream could be used as a cover by 
Indians bent on mischief: and they, 
we now believed, were watching for a 
favorable opportunity to surprise us. 

It transpired that the Holloway 
party neglected this precaution, at 
least on one occasion, sometime after 
passing the head of the Humboldt 
River. Their train was next behind 
ours when, on the evening of August 
13th, after rounding up their stock for 
the night, a short distance from the 

[62] 



A Fatal Morning 

wagons, they stopped near the willows 
by the river and made what proved to 
be their last camp. 

Behind them, but not within sight, 
were several emigrant camps at points 
varying from a few rods to half a mile 
apart. 

The Holloway party retired as usual 
for the night; Mr. and Mrs. Holloway 
and their child, a girl of two years, in 
a small tent near the wagons; Jerry 
Bush, Mrs. Holloway^s brother, and 
one of the hired men, Joe Blevens, in 
their blankets on the ground; while 
Bird Lawles, the other hired man, be- 
ing ill with a fever, slept in a wagon. 

There were others with this party 
that night; Mr. and Mrs. Galium, Mr. 
Hattlebaugh, and a man whose name 
is now unknown. These four had been 
traveling near the Holloway party, 
and joined it for camping on that 
occasion. 

The following morning Mr. Hollo- 
way was the first to arise. While 

[63] 



Crossing the Plains 

making the camp-fire, he called to the 
others to get up, saying cheerfully: 

"Well, weVe got through one more 
night without a call from the Red- 
skins.'' 

"Bang, bang," rang out a volley of 
rifle shots, fired from the willows 
along the river, less than a hundred 
yards away. 

Mr. Holloway fell, fatally shot, and 
died without a word or a struggle. 
As other members of the emigrant 
party sprang to their feet and came 
within view of the assailants, the fir- 
ing continued, killing Joe Elevens, 
Mrs. Galium, and the man whose name 
is not recalled; while Bird Lawles, 
being discovered on his sick bed in a 
wagon, was instantly put to death. 

Meanwhile Jerry Bush grasped his 
rifle and joined battle against the as- 
sassins. Thus far the savages re- 
mained hidden in the bushes, and 
Jerry's shots were fired merely at 
places where he saw the tall weeds and 

[64] 



Almost Despairing 

willows shaken by the motions of the 
Indians, therefore he has never known 
whether his bullets struck one of the 
enemy. 

While thus fighting alone, for his 
life and that of his people, he received 
a gunshot in his side and fell. Know- 
ing that he was unable to continue the 
fight, and, though doubting that he 
could rise, he endeavored to shield him- 
self from the bullets and arrows of the 
Indian band. He succeeded in drag- 
ging himself to the river bank, when, 
seizing a willow branch, he lowered 
himself to the foot of the steep cliff, 
some ten feet, reaching the water's 
edge. He then attempted to swim to 
the opposite shore. The effort caused 
him to lose his gun, in deep water. 
Owing to weakness due to his wound, 
he was unable to cross the stream. 

Jerry Bush's parting view of the 
camp had revealed the apparent de- 
struction of his entire party, except 
himself. Observing the body of at 

[65] 



Crossing the Plains 

least one woman, among the victims 
on the ground, he believed that his 
sister also had been slain. 

But Mrs. Holloway and the little 
girl were still in the tent, for the 
time unhurt, and just awakened from 
their morning slumber. Having real- 
ized that the camp was being attacked, 
Mrs. Holloway emerged from the tent 
to find no living member of her party 
in sight, other than herself and her 
child. For a moment she was par- 
tially shielded by the wagons. The 
first object that drew her attention 
was her husband's form, lying still in 
death, near the fire he had just kin- 
dled. Next beyond was the dead body 
of Elevens, and a little farther away 
were the remains of the others who 
had been slain. Her brother she did 
not see, but supposed he had met the 
same fate as the others whom she saw 
on the ground. Jerry was an experi- 
enced hunter ; she knew that he always 
owned a fine gun, and had full confi- 

[66] 



Torture 

dence that, if he were alive and not 
disabled, he would defend his people 
to the last. 

She saw some of the Indians coming 
from their ambush by the river. They 
approached for a time with caution, 
looking furtively about, as if to be 
sure there was no man left to defend 
the camp. As they drew nearer Mrs. 
Holloway realized that she and her 
child were facing an awful fate — 
death or captivity. On came the sav- 
ages, now more boldly, and in greater 
numbers. 

The terrified woman, clothed only in 
her night robe, barefooted; not know- 
ing whether to take flight or stand and 
plead for mercy; with the child on one 
arm, one hand raised in supplication, 
yielded finally to the impulse to flee. 
As she started the attacking band re- 
sumed firing; she was struck, by 
arrows and at least one bullet, and 
dropped headlong to the ground. 

Though conscious, she remained mo- 

[67] 



Crossing the Plains 

tionless, in the hope that, by feigning 
death she might escape further wounds 
and torture. But the Indians came, 
and taking the arrows from her body, 
punctured her flesh with the jagged 
instruments, as a test whether physi- 
cal sensation would disclose a sign of 
life remaining. She lay with eyes 
closed; not a muscle twitched nor a 
finger moved, while those demons pro- 
ceeded, in no delicate maner, to cut 
the skin around the head at the edge 
of the hair, then tear the scalp from 
the skull, leaving the bare and bleed- 
ing head on the ground. 

Horrible as all this was, it did not 
prove to be the last nor the most revolt- 
ing exhibition of wanton lust for 
blood. 

The little girl, who it is hoped had 
been rendered insensible at sight of 
the cruelties perpetrated upon her 
mother, was taken by the feet and her 
brains dashed out on the wheels of a 
wagon. To this last act in the fiend- 

[68] 



One Spark of Life 

ish drama there was probably no wit- 
ness other than the actors in it; but 
the child^s body, mangled too terribly 
for description, and the bloody marks 
on the wagon, gave evidence so con- 
vincing that there could not be a mo- 
ment's doubt of what had occurred. 

The marauders now began a general 
looting of the wagons. Some of their 
number were rounding up the stock, 
preparing to drive the cattle away, 
when the trains of emigrants next in 
the rear appeared, less than half a 
mile distant. This caused the Indian 
band to retreat. They crossed the 
river, and then placing themselves be- 
hind the willows, hurried away, mak- 
ing their escape into the mountain 
fastnesses. Owing to their precipitous 
departure, much of the plunder they 
were preparing to take was left be- 
hind them. Among the articles thus 
dropped by them was the scalp of Mrs. 
Holloway, and the rescuing party 
found and took possession of it. 

[69] 



Crossing the Plains 

Those emigrants who first came 
upon the scene found Mrs. Holloway 
apparently dead; but, on taking her 
up, they saw that she was alive. 
Though returning to semi-conscious- 
ness some time later, her condition 
was such that she was unable to tell 
the story then; but there were evi- 
dences showing plainer than words 
could have told of the awful events of 
that morning, which had converted the 
quiet camp of this happy, hopeful com- 
pany into a scene of death and 
destruction. 

Before noon a large number of peo- 
ple of the great emigrant procession 
had arrived. They united in giving to 
the dead the best interment that the 
circumstances permitted. Then the 
broken and scattered effects of the 
Holloway company were gathered up, 
and the now mournful trains took 
position in the line of pilgrimage and 
again moved forward towards the 
Pacific. 

[70] .,„._. 



Good Samaritans 

Mr. Fennell, aided by Captain Roun- 
tree^s company and others, attempted 
to save such of the Holloway property 
as had not been carried off or de- 
stroyed. They were successful in re- 
covering about one hundred of the 
one hundred and fifty head of stock 
which the Indians had endeavored to 
drive away. Two mules that were be- 
ing led off by ropes broke away from 
the savage band and returned, but the 
emigrants did not recover any of the 
stolen horses. 

Jerry Bush found his way back 
to the scene. His injury, though ap- 
parently of a dangerous character, did 
not delay the relief parties more than 
a day after the attack, and the wound 
healed within a few weeks. It was 
reported that Galium and Hattlebaugh 
had escaped, but their further where- 
abouts was not known. 

Captain Rountree took charge of 
Mrs. Holloway and her brother and 
brought them, with such of their stock 

[711 



Crossing the Plains 

and other belongings as remained, to 
The Meadows, on the Feather River. 
After partially recuperating there, an 
uncle, Mr. Perry Durban, came to 
their aid, and they were taken to 
Suisun. After full recovery from his 
wound, Jerry Bush located in Ukiah, 
and resided there some years. He still 
survives, now a resident of Hulett, 
Wyoming, at the ripe age of eighty 
years. 

The slaughter of the Holloway 
party occurred at a point on the Hum- 
boldt River some thirty miles east of 
where Winnemucca is located, a few 
miles west of Battle Mountain. This 
becomes apparent by careful estimates 
of distance traveled per day, rather 
than by landmarks noted at the time, 
there being no settlements there, nor 
elsewhere along the route, at that time. 

It was perhaps a year later when I 
went to a camp-meeting one Sunday, at 
Mark West Creek, in Sonoma County, 
California. The people attending a 

[72] 




Jerry Bush, 1914 



After Effects 

service were in a small opening among 
trees. Standing back of those who 
were seated, I saw among them a 
woman whose profile seemed familiar, 
and later I recognized her as Mrs. 
Holloway. 

My interest in her career, due to 
her extraordinary part in the Indian 
massacre on the plains, was height- 
ened by the fact that I had known her 
previously, as the daughter of Mr. 
Bush, a prosperous farmer, and had 
been present when she married Mr. 
Holloway, in a little schoolhouse, near 
Rockport, Atchison County, Missouri. 
It seemed a natural impulse which 
prompted me to ask her for partic- 
ulars of the tragedy, so disastrous to 
herself and her fam.ily; though later 
there were misgivings regarding the 
propriety of doing so. 

Mrs. Holloway appeared at that 
time to be in good health, and was 
cheerful, possessing perfect control of 
her faculties. Her head was covered 

[73] 



Crossing the Plains 

by a wig, made of her own hair, taken 
from the scalp that was recovered at 
the scene of the massacre. 

All the heartrending experiences 
that she had endured were imprinted 
upon her mind in minutest detail, and 
she related them in the exact order of 
their occurrence. The recalling of the 
terrible ordeal, however, so wrought 
upon her emotions that she wept, to 
the limit of mild hysteria, which 
brought our conversation to a close, 
and soon thereafter she left the place. 

I saw her no more; but learned 
sometime afterwards that her health 
failed, then of the giving away of her 
mental powers, and still later of her 
death, at Napa City; caused primarily 
by shock, and brooding over the mis- 
fortunes she had met on the bank of 
the Humboldt River. 

It is difficult to believe that a wo- 
man, any woman — or any man — could, 
in a state of consciousnes, endure such 
torture as was inflicted upon Mrs. 

[74] 




Mrs. Nancy Holloway, 1857 



Fortitude 

Holloway, and refrain from disclosing 
to her tormentors that she was alive. 
But that she did so endure was her posi- 
tive statement, and this was indisput- 
ably corroborated by evidences found by 
those who arrived at the scene less 
than an hour after the event. 

Through the kindness of Mr. Wil- 
liam Holloway, of Fairfax, Missouri, 
there is presented here a picture of 
Mrs. Nancy Holloway, wife of Smith 
Holloway. The photograph was taken 
in California, shortly after the attack 
described. 



75] 



CHAPTER VI. 

ORIGIN OF ''PIKER/' BEFORE THE ERA 
OF CANNED GOODS AND KODAKS. MORN- 
ING ROUTINE. TYPICAL BIVOUAC. 
SOCIABILITY ENTRAINED. THE 
FLOODED CAMP. HOPE SUS- 
TAINS PATIENCE. 

The appellation 'Tiker/' much used 
in the West in early days, synony- 
mous of ''Missourian/' had its origin 
on these plains. At first it was ap- 
plied to a particular type of Missou- 
rian, but later came to be used 
generally. 

There was among the emigrants a 
considerable number of persons from 
Pike County, Missouri. Some of these 
had the sign, "From Pike Co., Mo.,'' 
painted on their wagon covers. 
Others, when asked whence they came, 
promptly answered, 'Trom Pike 

[76] 



^'Pike County, by Gosh^^ 

County, Missouri, by gosh, sir;" often 
said with a shrug implying that the 
speaker arrogated to himself much 
superiority by reason of the fact 
stated. The display of such signs, and 
announcements like that just men- 
tioned, were of such frequent occur- 
rence that the substance was soon ab- 
breviated to 'Tiker," and became a 
by-word. It was often, perhaps al- 
ways, spoken with a tinge of odium. 
Possibly this was due to the fact that 
many of the people referred to were 
of a ''backwoods'' class, rather short 
in culture, and in personal makeup, 
manner and language, bearing a gen- 
eral air of the extremely rural. 

Though only persons of that descrip- 
tion hailing from Pike County were 
those who at first had to bear the 
opprobrium generally implied by 
'Tiker," later it was applied to all 
persons of that type in the Far West, 
regardless of their origin. Many 
years' of mingling of California's cos- 

[77] 



Crossing the Plains 

mopolitan population has changed all 
that; producing her present homo- 
geneous, sterling, virile, and somewhat 
distinct type of ^^Californian'^ ; so the 
^Tiker,^^ as such, is no longer in the 
land. A later application of the same 
word, descriptive of a person who does 
business in a small way, has nothing 
in common with the ^Tiker^' of early 
days. 

Fifty-eight years ago, the time of 
the events here narrated, was before 
the era of canned goods. Nearly all of 
the foodstuffs carried by the emigrants 
were in crude form, and bulky; but 
substantial, pure, and such as would 
keep in any climate. 

During the first few weeks of the 
trip we milked some of the cows, and 
also made butter, the churning opera- 
tion being effected mainly by the mo- 
tion of the wagons, in the regular 
course. That this did not last long 
was due to reduction of milk supply. 
After a time there was not sufficient 

[78] 



A Kodak Wanted 

even for use in the coffee, or for mak- 
ing gravy, that convenient substitute 
for butter. 

Such delicacies as may now be found 
in first-class canned meats, vegetables 
and milk would have filled an often- 
felt want. The occasional supply that 
we had en route of fresh meat and fish 
were obtained largely by chance; we 
having no knowledge of localities 
where hunting and fishing were likely 
to be successful, and it being deemed 
unsafe for members of the party to 
wander far or remain long away from 
the train. It seems regrettable that the 
invention of hermetically-sealed and 
easily portable foods, and the induce- 
ment to cross the plains to California, 
did not occur in reversed sequence. 

Neither had the kodak arrived. Had 
it been with us then, this narrative 
might be illustrated with snap-shots 
of camp scenes, characteristic roadside 
views, and incidents of travel gener- 
ally, which would do more for realism 

[79] 



Crossing the Plains 

than can any word-picture. We often 
see specimens of artists' work pur- 
porting to represent a '' '49er'' emi- 
grant train on the overland journey — 
some of them very clever; but seldom 
are they at all realistic to the man who 
was there. 

The man with a camera could have 
perpetuated, for example, the striking 
scene presented to us one day of a 
party, consisting of two men and their 
wives, with two or three children, sit- 
ting on a rocky hillside, woefully scan- 
ning their team of done-out oxen and 
one wagon with a broken axle; no 
means at hand for recuperation and 
repair. In the scorching sun of a July 
day they waited, utterly helpless, hope- 
less, forlorn, confused; and a thousand 
miles from ^^anywhere.'' Such a 
grouping would not have made a cheer- 
ful picture, but would have assisted 
immensely in recording a historical 
fact. 

But no emigrant ever found another 

[80] 



Travel Routine 

in distress and '^passed by on the other 
side/^ 

We were early risers, and the camp 
was each morning a scene of life with 
the rising of the sun. By sunset all were 
sufficiently fatigued to wish for mak- 
ing camp again. Therefore, from the 
morning start till the evening stop was 
usually about twelve hours, with varia- 
tions from time to time, according to 
necessity or exceptional conditions. 

Breaking camp in the morning be- 
came routine, and proceeded like clock- 
work. Each patient ox voluntarily 
drew near, and stood, waiting to be 
yoked with his fellow and chained to 
his daily task. So well did each know 
his place by the side of his mate that 
the driver had only to place one end of 
the yoke on the neck of the "off'' ox, 
known, for example, as "Bright,'' and 
hold the other end toward the "nigh" 
ox, saying, "Come under here. Buck," 
and the obedient fellow placed himself 
in position. Then the bows were 

[81] 



Crossing the Plains 

placed and keyed, and "Bright*' and 
"Buck*' were hitched for duty. It re- 
quired but a few minutes to put three 
or four yoke of oxen in working order. 

As the result of much repetition, the 
packing of the camp articles onto the 
wagons was done dexterously and 
quickly. Each box, roll and bundle 
had a designated place; all being ar- 
ranged usually to facilitate sitting or 
reclining positions for those who rode 
in the "schooners,** that they might be 
as comfortable as possible, and read, 
sleep, or, as the women often did, sew 
and knit, or play games. During some 
parts of the trip such means of whiling 
away the hours was very desirable, if 
not a necessity. If there ever was a 
time or condition in which it could be 
pardonable to "kill time,** these cir- 
cumstances were there, during many 
long days. 

The bivouac was always a scene of 
bustle and orderly disorder, especially 
if the camp-site was a good one : wood, 

[82] 



Healthy Appetites 

water and grass being the desiderata. 
Obedient to habit, every person and 
animal dropped into place and action. 
With the wagons drawn to position for 
the night's sojourn, teams were quickly 
unhitched, the yokes, chains, harness 
and saddles falling to the ground 
where the animals stood. 

Relieved of their trappings, the oxen, 
horses and mules were turned to pas- 
ture, plentiful or scant. Cooking uten- 
sils came rattling from boxes; rolls of 
bedding tumbled out and were spread 
on the smxoothest spots of sand or 
grass. Eager hands gathered such 
fuel as was available, and the camp- 
fire blazed. Buckets of water were 
brought from the spring or stream; 
and in an incredibly short time the 
scene of animation had wrought full 
preparation for the night, while the 
odor of steaming coffee and fry- 
ing bacon rendered the astonished 
air redolent of appetizing cookery. 

Some families used a folding table, 

[83] 



Crossing the Plains 

on which to serve meals; but more 
spread an oilcloth on the ground and 
gathered around that; or individuals, 
taking a plate and a portion, sat on a 
wagon-tongue or a convenient stone. 
Camp-stools and ''split-bottomed'^ 
chairs were among the luxuries that 
some carried, in limited numbers; but 
these were not useful especially as 
seats while partaking of a meal spread 
on the ground. 

Appetites were seldom at fault; and 
the meals, though plain and of little 
variety, were never slighted. It is 
hardly necessary to add that bacon and 
coffee were easy staples. Bread was 
mainly in the form of quick-fire bis- 
cuits, baked in a skillet or similar 
utensil, or the ever-ready and always- 
welcome ''flap- jack,'' sometimes supple- 
mented with soda-crackers, as a 
delicacy. 

Nearly all the nights were pleasant — 
mild temperature, and very little dew. 
This gave much relief, the daytime 

[84] 



Lasting Friendships 

heat being generally irksome and 
often distressingly hot. Many of the 
men came to prefer sleeping wholly in 
the open, with the heavens unobscured ; 
often requiring no more than a pair of 
blankets and a small pillow. 

Early evening was devoted to social 
gatherings. If the night was pleasant 
groups would assemble, for conversa- 
tion, singing and story-telling; varied 
with dancing by the young people of 
some companies. The more religious 
sang hymns and read the Bible some- 
times, in lieu of attendance at any 
church service. When wood was plen- 
tiful, a bonfire added to the cheerful- 
ness and comfort of the occasion. Often 
neighboring trains camped quite near, 
when much enjoyment was found in 
visits by the members of one company 
among those of another. In such ways 
many agreeable acquaintances were 
met and even lasting friendships 
formed, some of which have endured 
throughout the nearly three-score years 
since passed. 

[85] 



Crossing the Plains 

But we were not always favored 
with clear and pleasant weather. No 
one who was there can have forgotten 
one night at the Platte River, when we 
had a most dismal experience. Rain 
began falling in the afternoon, and for 
that reason we made camp early. 

The tents were set up on a bit of 
flat ground near the river bank. There 
were some large trees, but little dry 
wood available for fuel for the camp 
fire except on an island, which was 
separated from us by a branch of the 
river, about twenty yards wide and a 
foot deep. Some of us waded over, 
getting our clothes soaked; others 
crossed on horseback, and carried back 
from the island enough wood to make 
a fire. But, time after time, the fire 
was quenched by the rain, which now 
was falling in torrents; so we had 
much difficulty in preparing our 
supper. 

The people huddled into the tents 
and wagons, half hungry, more than 

[86] 



Deluged 

half wet, and uncomfortable alto- 
gether. With the exception of one or 
two cots, the bedding was spread on the 
ground in the tents, and all turned 
in — but not for long. Some one said, 
"water is running under my bed.'' 
Then another and another made the 
same complaint. Soon we learned the 
deplorable fact that the large tent had 
been pitched in a basin-like place, and 
that the water, as the rain increased, 
was coming in from all sides, the vol- 
ume growing rapidly greater. 

We succeeded then in lighting one 
lantern, when the water was found to 
be something like two inches deep over 
nearly all parts of the large tent's 
floor. The beds were taken up and 
placed in soaked heaps, on camp stools 
and boxes; and the rain continued 
pouring in steady, relentless disregard 
of our misery. Except where lighted 
by the single lantern the darkness was, 
of course, absolute. Relief was impos- 
sible. There appearing to be nothing 

[87] 



Crossing the Plains 

else to do, everybody abandoned the 
tents and huddled in the wagons; the 
lantern was blown out, and there was 
little sleep, while we waited and wished 
for daylight. 

Some of the days were warm and 
some hot. Some were very hot. Dis- 
comforts were common; and yet not 
much was said, and apparently little 
thought, of them. Having become 
inured to the conditions as we found 
them from time to time, discomforts, 
such as under other circumstances 
would have been considered intolerable, 
were passed without comment. There 
were times and situations in which 
hardships were unavoidable, some of 
them almost unendurable; but these, 
having been anticipated, were perhaps 
less poignant in the enduring than in 
the expectation. 

Let us for a moment raise the cur- 
tain of more than half a century, while 
we look back on one of those ox-drawn 
trains of ^^prairie-schooners,*^ as it ap- 

[88] 



Monotony 

peared to an observer on the ground 
at the time; about the middle of Au- 
gust, and beyond the middle of the 
journey. Permit the imagination to 
place the scene alongside that of the 
present-day modes of traversing the 
same territory, when the distance is 
covered in a less number of days than 
it required of months then. Perhaps 
such a comparison may help to form 
some faint conception of what the 
overland pioneers did, and what they 
felt, and saw, and were. 

There they are as we see them, on a 
long stretch of sage-brush plateau. 
The surface of the plain is only sand 
and gravel, as far as the eye can reach. 
The atmosphere is hazy, with dust and 
vibrating waves of heat arising from 
the ground. Far away to the north- 
west is the outline of some mountains, 
just visible in the dim distance. In 
the opposite direction, whence we have 
come, there is nothing above the 
ground but hot space, and dust. Not a 

[89] 



Crossing the Plains 

living thing in sight but ourselves and 
ours. 

The animals appear fatigued, jaded. 
The people appear — well, as to physi- 
cal condition, like the animals: gen- 
erally all look alike. Yet the people 
seem hopeful. And why hopeful? The 
inherent and indomitable trait of the 
race which makes it possible for hu- 
manity to look over and past present 
difficulties, however great, and see 
some good beyond. That is why the 
world ^^do move.'' Often, as it was 
with us, progress may be slow, but 
every day counts for a little. 

Just here twelve or fifteen miles a 
day is doing well — very well. From a 
slight eminence at one side of the way 
we may stand and see the slowly creep- 
ing line of wagons and stock, for many 
miles fore and aft, as they bend their 
v/ay in and out, around and over the 
surface of knolls and flats, hillocks and 
gullies. From a distant view they 
seem not to be moving at alL 

[901 



The hour of mid-day arrives, and 
they stop for the ''nooning." There 
is nothing growing in the vicinity that 
the horses and cattle can eat, and no 
water except the little in the keg and 
canteens; so the carrying animals 
stand in their yokes and harness, or 
under saddles, and the loose stock wait 
in groups, their thirst unslaked. 

As the people come out of the wag- 
ons and go about the business of the 
hour we see the marks of the elements 
upon them. The women wear ''poke'^ 
bonnets and gingham dresses. The 
men are unshaven. All are sunburnt 
to a rich, leathern brown. Some are 
thin, and at this particular time, wear- 
ing a serious expression. They are 
not as unhappy as they look, their 
principal trouble of the moment being 
merely anxiety to satisfy prodigious 
and healthy appetites. 

There, under the stress of the mid- 
summer sun, now in the zenith, no 
shade, no protection from the flying 

[911 



Crossing the Plains 

dust, they proceed cheerfully to build a 
fire, of sticks and dry weeds; they fry 
bacon and bake biscuits, prepare large 
pots of coffee, and they eat, from tin 
plates, and drink from tin cups. 

No one says, "This is awful!'' They 
laugh as they eat, saying, "Good; ain't 
it?" 

This is not a cheerful view alto- 
gether of the retrospective; but a 
sketch true to life, as life was there. 
It was not all like that. A good deal 
of it was. 

Some will say that these overland 
travelers were over-zealous, even fool- 
hardy. One of the earliest pioneers, 
Mr. Daniel B. Miller, who reached 
Oregon by the plains route in 1852, 
wrote later to relatives in Illinois, "I 
would not bring a family across for 
all that is contained in Oregon and 
California." Himself single, he had 
come with a train composed almost 
wholly of men, but learned incidentally 
what risks there were in escorting 

[92] 



Why We Came 

women and children through the wilds. 
But the enduring of all this toil, 
exposure and hardship had for its in- 
spiration the buoyant hope of some- 
thing good just beyond, something that 
was believed to be worthy of the pri- 
vation and effort it was costing. The 
ardor of that hope was too intense to 
be discouraged by anything that hu- 
man strength could overcome. The 
memories of those strenuous experi- 
ences are held as all but sacred, and 
you never meet one of these early over- 
land emigrants who does not like to 
sit by your fireside and tell you about 
it. He forgets, for the moment, how 
hard it was, and dwells upon it, telling 
it over and over again, with the same 
pride and sense of noble achievement 
that the old soldier feels when recount- 
ing the battles and the camp life and 
the hard marches of the war, when he 
was young, away back in the sixties. 
One crossing this country by present- 
day conveyances, in richly appointed 

[93] 



Crossing the Plains 

railroad trains, with all the comforts 
obtainable in modern sleeping, dining 
and parlor cars, can hardly be expected 
to conceive what it was to cover the 
same course under the conditions de- 
scribed; when there was not even a 
poor wagon road, and the utmost speed 
did not equal in a day the distance 
traveled in half an hour by the pres- 
ent mode. Any person who rides in 
a cumbrous and heavily laden wagon, 
behind a team whose pace never ex- 
ceeds a slow walk; over dusty ground, 
in hot weather, will, before one day is 
passed, feel that endurance requires 
utmost fortitude. Consider what pa- 
tience must be his if the journey 
continues for four, five or six long 
months ! 

It is worthy of mention that there 
was no dissension among our people, 
nor even unpleasantness, during the 
entire trip, nor did we observe any 
among others. We were fortunate in 
having no ^^grouches^' among us. Har- 

[94] 



No Grouches 

mony, cheerfulness, a disposition to be 
jolly, even to the degree of hilarity, 
was the prevailing spirit. That, too, 
under circumstances often so trying 
that they might have thrown a sensi- 
tive disposition out of balance. All 
this in the wilds of an unorganized 
territory, where there was no law to 
govern, other than the character and 
natural bent of individuals. Such lack 
of established authority we had 
thought might lead to recklessness or 
aggressive conduct, but it did not. 

Present residents in the fields and 
valleys, and the prosperous towns along 
much of the line of travel described, 
will find it difficult to reconcile the 
accounts here given with conditions as 
they see them now. Leagues of terri- 
tory now bearing a network of rail- 
roads and splendid highways, which 
carry rich harvests from the well- 
tilled farms, and connect numerous 
cities, was thought of ordinarily by the 
emigrants in early days only as it ap- 

[95 1 



Crossing the Plains 

peared to them, and then was, the 
stamping ground of savage tribes and 
the home of wild beasts, untouched by 
the transforming hand of civilization. 
To the keen observer, however, it was 
evident that we were passing through a 
great deal of fine country. On the 
other hand, it cannot be denied that 
part of that journey was through lands 
naturally barren, some desert wastes, 
much of which is still unreclaimed, 
some unreclaimable. 



[96] 



CHAPTER VII. 

TANGLED BY A TORNADO. LOST THE PACE 

BUT KEPT THE COW. HUMAN ODDITIES. 

NIGHT-GUARDS. WOLF SERENADES. 

AWE OF THE WILDERNESS. 

A STAMPEDE. 

Few readers need peruse these pages 
to learn what a thunder-storm is 
like, but many may not know what it 
is to encounter a fierce electrical dis- 
turbance while surrounded by a herd 
of uncontrollable cattle on the prairie. 

On an occasion after having stopped 
for a "nooning/^ there loomed up sud- 
denly in the northwest a black, omi- 
nous cloud, revolving swiftly and 
threateningly, as might the vapors 
from some gigantic cauldron; varie- 
gated in black, blue and green, be- 
spangled with red streaks of lightning. 

This display of the angry elements 

[97] 



Crossing the Plains 

was making a broadening sweep on- 
ward directly towards where we were. 
The air turned black and murky, and 
was vibrant with electric tension. 
Flocks of buzzards flew low to the 
earth about us, as if to be ready for 
the carrion of the impending catas- 
trophe. The fear instinct of the brute 
seized the cattle, and they hovered to- 
gether, bellowing, distraught with ap- 
prehension of evil. 

The whirlpool of atmospheric chaos 
grew more intense and rapidly larger 
as it approached. Globules of water 
began to "spat! spat!^* on the ground, 
here and there, as the storm-cloud 
opened its batteries of liquid balls. 
There was only such protection as the 
wagons afforded. Whatever prepara- 
tion we could make must be effected at 
once. 

Knowing that if the cattle should 
take fright and run, it would be better 
that they leave the wagons, I dropped 
the wagon-tongue to which I was 

[98] 



Meeting the Storm 

hitching a team, and called to a boy 
who was hooking up the next wagon, 
telling him not to do so. He had, how- 
ever, already attached to that wagon 
the team consisting of three yoke of 
oxen. 

The big drops of water were in a 
moment followed by hailstones, at first 
very large and scattering, striking the 
ground each with a vicious thud — a 
subdued ^Svhack"; growing more fre- 
quent and presently mingled with 
lesser ones; until, in the shortest mo- 
ment, there was a cloud-burst of hail 
and rain pouring upon us, a storm such 
as none of us had ever witnessed. 

The oxen, chained together in strings 
of three and four pairs, pelted by the 
hail, were miutinous and altogether un- 
controllable. My own string, having 
turned crosswise of the front end of 
the wagon, were pushing it backward, 
down the hillside. The team in charge 
of the boy, being attached to their 
wagon and heading away from the 



Crossing the Plains 

storm, were turning the wagon over. 
Knowing that the boy's mother was in 
the "schooner/' on a sick bed, I left 
my wagon and ran to that. As the 
oxen, in trying to shield themselves 
from the hail, were forcing the front 
wheels around under the wagon-box, I 
was fortunate enough to get a shoulder 
under one corner of the box and exert 
sufficient force to prevent the wagon 
upsetting. All this took little more 
than a minute. The storm passed 
away as suddenly as it had come. 
Then I saw the wagon which was my 
special charge lying on its side, at the 
bottom of the slope; the bows of the 
cover fitting snugly into a sort of 
natural gutter, with a swift current 
of muddy water and hailstones flow- 
ing through the cover, as if it were a 
sluice-pipe. Everything in the wagon 
was topsy-turvy; and, half buried in 
the heap were two little girls, who had 
been riding in the vehicle. They were 
more frightened than hurt, but com- 

[100] 




The Author — Twenty years after 



Breaking a Stampede 

plained loudly at being placed in a 
cold-storage of hailstones. 

Meantime, the sun beamed again, 
clear and hot, and we saw the storm- 
cloud pursuing its course over the 
plain to the southeast, leaving in its 
wake a v/et path a few rods wide. 

The other men had their hands full 
in caring for endangered members of 
the party and the equipment. The 
loose stock had stampeded and were 
far away, with some of the mounted 
men in desperate pursuit. They even- 
tually brought the cattle to a halt, 
about five miles away, where the 
wagons overtook them when it was 
time to make camp. 

Continuous travel over rough ground 
and through deep sand, and ascending 
steep mountains, proved too great a 
strain for the endurance of some out- 
fits. From time to time we were 
obliged to witness instances of extreme 
privation and hardship, usually the 
result of inadequate preparation for 

[101] 



Crossing the Plains 

the arduous journey. Some started 
with only enough oxen to carry them 
in ease all should remain serviceable; 
and carried provisions for no more 
than the shortest limit of time esti- 
mated ; so that the mishap of losing an 
ox or two, or any delay, worked a 
calamity. Some trains started so late, 
or were so much delayed, that they 
were compelled to negotiate passage of 
the higher mountains after the time 
when enormous snow-drifts had to be 
encountered; further delay resulting, 
with exhaustion of strength and deple- 
tion of supplies, in consequence of 
which many members of some trains 
failed to reach their destination. A 
notable experience of this kind was 
that of the Donner party, in 1846. 

It was in one of the higher mountain 
regions that we overtook one Eben 
Darby and his family. Darby had 
been with one of the trains in advance 
of us, but being unable to keep the 
pace, he was obliged to fall behind. 

[102] 



Darby^s Predicament 

He had one small wagon, two yoke of 
oxen, and a cow; the latter led by a 
rope behind the wagon. His wife, with 
a young baby, and the wife's brother, 
Danny Worley, were the only persons 
with Darby. The wife was a weak, 
inexperienced girl; the child sickly. 
Mrs. Darby's brother was a large, fat 
youth of nineteen, whose distinguish- 
ing and inconvenient characteristc was 
an abnormal appetite. Their provi- 
sions were nearly exhausted. The cow 
was to them the real fountain of life. 
She was doing nobly — supplying them 
a quart of milk a day, which was won- 
derful, considering the circumstances. 
This milk fed the baby, and afforded a 
good substitute for butter, in the form 
of milk gravy — on which Danny fared 
sumptuously every day. 

Later their oxen drank of the alkali 
water of the Humboldt River, and 
three of the four died in one night. 
Then the cow was yoked with the re- 
maining ox, two steers were loaned 

[103 1 



Crossing the Plains 

them by "good Samaritans'' in our 
company, and they were with us to the 
Sink of the Humboldt. 

Meantime the milk supply grew less, 
and Mrs. Darby was compelled to sub- 
stitute water for milk in the gravy. 
This sop was not satisfactory to 
Danny. One evening at meal time he 
was overheard by some of our boys, 
saying, '1 want milk in my gravy.'' 
Though reminded there was only 
enough milk for the baby, he of the 
phenomenal appetite reiterated, "I 
don't care, I want milk in my gravy." 
Thereafter "Gravy" was the name by 
which he was known, so long as he 
traveled with us. 

This narrative would not do justice 
to the variety of individuals and events 
without mention of another singular 
personage, a young fellow who was 
"working his passage"; a sort of dis- 
connected unit, whose place became 
everywhere in the train, and who be- 
longed to nobody. How he got smug- 

[104] 



A Desert Stowaway 

gled into the company no one has since 
been able to recall. He was a sort of 
desert stowaway; tolerated because, 
though eccentric and quite alarming in 
appearance, he was always in good 
humor, and often useful, having a 
willingness to do as many of the chores 
as others would trust him to perform. 
He was notable as a physical curiosity, 
though not actually deformed. Low of 
stature, he came to be known as 
''Shorty,'' the only name we ever had 
for him. As he stood, his abnormally 
long arms enabled him to take his 
hat from the ground without stooping. 
His legs were not mates in length, 
causing him as he moved, with a quick, 
rocking gait, to create the impression 
that he might topple backward; but 
somehow the longer leg always got 
underneath at the critical instant, and 
restored the balance. His head was 
large, and perfectly round; hair por- 
cupinesque, each bristle standing 
nearly perpendicular to the plane on 

1 105 1 



Crossing the Plains 

which it grew. He had no neck. Mouth 
small, and so round that it opened not 
unlike a bored hole in a flesh-colored 
pumpkin. 

"Shorty'' asserted that he was a 
singer. He and ''Jack'' never sang 
together, however — that is, they never 
did so any more, after trying it once. 
''Shorty" and "Gravy" Worley became 
chums inseparable, except on one occa- 
sion, when their friendship was tem- 
porarily ruptured by a dispute over 
the ownership of a fishing hook. Anger 
grew hot, but when they were about to 
come to blows, "Shorty" suddenly 
dropped on "all-fours" and essayed to 
butt his adversary with his head, which 
surprising mode of combat so discon- 
certed "Gravy" that he ran for his 
quarters, wildly yelling, "Take him off, 
take him off." 

For a time during the early part of 
the journey the horses and mules were 
picketed at night, on the best pasture 
available; and before we retired, all 

[106] 



Brute Instinct 

the animals were brought near the 
wagons, the loose cattle bunched with 
them, and guards were placed, to pre- 
vent straying of the stock or surprise 
by Indians. Later, for awhile, these 
precautions were deemed unnecessary, 
though still later they had to be re- 
sumed. The stock became accustomed 
to the daily routine, and after the all- 
day travel, were quite willing, when 
they had finished their evening grazing, 
to assemxble near the cam.p and lie 
down for the night, usually remaining 
comparatively quiet till morning. As 
if having some realization of the lonely 
nature of the surroundings, the ani- 
mals were not disposed to stray off, 
except on rare occasions; but rather to 
keep within sight of the people and 
the wagons. 

There was proof of the theory that 
in some circumstances domestic ani- 
mals acquire some of that feeling that 
human creatures know, when far from 
the habitations of man. There is a 

[107] 



Crossing the Plains 

peculiar sensation in the great and 
boundless contiguity of empty silence 
which works the senses up to a feeling 
that is somewhat alike in man and 
beast — that there is most comfort and 
protection near the center of the set- 
tlement or camp. In this stillness of 
the night — and night on these plains 
was often very still — any slight noise 
outside the camp startled and thrilled 
the taut nerves. Not only was the 
night still ; usually it was silent, too. 

But occasionally, when the silence 
was absolute, a couple or more of prai- 
rie-wolves lurking in the vicinity, 
without the faintest note of prelude, 
would startle the calm of night with 
their peculiar commingling of barks, 
howls and wails, — a racket all their 
own. It was the habit of these night 
prowlers of the desert to come as near 
to the camp as their acute sense of 
safety permitted, and there, sitting on 
their haunches, their noses pointed to 
the moon, render a serenade that was 

[1081 



Chattering Coyotes 

truly thrilling. Two prairie-wolves, in 
a fugued duet, can emit more dis- 
quieting noise, with a less proportion of 
harmony, than any aggregation of sev- 
eral times their equal in numbers, not 




A coyote serenade 

excepting Indians on the war-path or 
a ''gutter" band. 

That awe of the wilderness to which 
reference has been made, and its effect 
on the nerves, may explain the stam- 
pede of cattle, often not otherwise ac- 
counted for; which occurs sometimes 
in these hollow solitudes. It occurs 
nowhere else that I have known. 

[109] 



Crossing the Plains 

Several times we experienced this 
strange exhibition of sudden panic ; the 
snapping, as it were, of the nerves, 
from undue tension, when, instantly, 
from cause then to us unknown and 
unguessed, the whole band of cattle, 
teams as well as loose stock, made a 
sudden, wild, furious dash, in a com- 
pact mass; seeming instinctively to 
follow in whatever direction the lead- 
er's impulse led him; drifting together 
and forward as naturally as water 
flows to the current; with heads and 
tails high in air; blindly trampling to 
the earth whatever chanced to be in 
their path. 

These were not in any sense wild 
stock. The cattle, horses and mules 
were all animals that had been raised 
on the quiet farms of the Middle West, 
well domesticated. 

In the light* of certain modern the- 
ories it might be said by some that 
these otherwise docile animals stam- 
peded on the unpeopled plains because 

[1101 



Cattle Unrestrained 

they heard the ^^call of the wild/^ 
There were, however, occasions when 
the cause could be readily assigned for 
this temporary casting off of restraint. 

In one instance, already mentioned, 
a sudden, pelting hailstorm was the 
undoubted cause; when, taking the 
stampede temper, they ran five or six 
miles before the man, mounted on one 
of our fleetest saddle-horses, got in 
front of the foremost of them and 
checked their running. 

On all such occasions control could 
be regained in only one way. Speed- 
ing his horse till he overtook and 
passed the leader of the drove the rider 
made his horse the leader ; and as each 
loose animal always followed whatever 
was in front, the horseman, by making 
a circuit and gradually slackening the 
pace, led the drove around and back to 
place in the line of travel. 

Naturally one source of uneasiness 
was the thought of what our situation 
would be if, on one of these occasions, 
[111] 



Crossing the Plains 

we should fail to regain control of these 
animals, so necessary to us in continu- 
ing the westward journey. A stam- 
pede when some of the oxen were 
yoked to the wagons was, of course, 
more serious in its immediate conse- 
quences than when it happened while 
all w^ere detached from the equipment. 
A stampede occurred one day in a 
level stretch of country, open in every 
direction; nothing in sight to cause 
alarm. There the emigrant road 
showed plainly before us. The wagons 
were in open single file, the loose stock 
drawn out in line at the rear. Men on 
horseback, hats over their eyes, some 
of them with one leg curled over the 
pommel of the saddle; lazily droning 
away the slow hours and the humdrum 
miles. The women and children were 
stowed away on bundles of baggage 
and camp stuff in the wagons, some 
of them asleep perhaps, rocked in their 
''schooner" cradles. A few of the 
men and boys perchance were strolling 

[112] 



First Death 

off the way, in the hope of starting a 
sage grouse or rabbit from some shel- 
tering clump of brush. During a spe- 
cially quiet routine like this ; the cattle 
lolling behind the wagons, mostly un- 
attended, keeping the snail pace set by 
the patient teams; a steer now and 
again turning aside to appropriate a 
tuft of bunch-grass; their white horns 
rising and falling in the brilliant sun- 
light, with the swaying motion of their 
bodies as they walked, shimmered like 
waves of a lake at noonday before a 
gentle breeze : quickly as a clap of the 
hands, every loose beast in the band, in 
the wildest fashion of terror, started, 
straight in the course of the moving 
line — pell-mell, they went, veering for 
nothing that they could run over; 
sweeping on, with a roaring tramp, 
like muffled thunder, they passed along 
both sides of the train. The teams, 
catching the frenzy, took up the race, 
as best they could with their heavy 
impedimenta; all beyond control of 

[113] 



Crossing the Plains 

their drivers or the herders, who, star- 
tled from the reverie of the moment, 
could do no better than dodge to such 
place of safety as they found, and 
stand aghast at the spectacle. Fortu- 
nately the draft oxen usually were 
forced to stop running before they 
went far, owing to the weight of the 
wagons they hauled and their inability 
to break the yokes. 

In this particular instance the most 
serious casualty was the death of a 
boy, about eight years of age, the son 
of Dr. Kidd. The child was probably 
asleep in a wagon, and being aroused 
by the unusal commotion, may have 
attempted to look out, when a jolt of 
the wagon threw him to the ground, 
and he was trampled to death. The 
body was kept in camp overnight, and 
the next morning wrapped in a sheet 
and buried by the roadside. 

This was in a vast stretch of lonely 
plain. As we journeyed through it, 
viewing the trackless hills and rock- 

[114] 



Then and Now 

ribbed mountains not far away on 
either side, mostly barren and uninvit- 
ing, it was difficult to conceive of that 
territory ever becoming the permanent 
homes of men. Yet it is possible, and 
probable, that the grave of Dr. Kidd^s 
little boy is today within the limits of 
a populous community, or even be- 
neath a noisy thoroughfare of som^e 
busy town. 



[115 



CHAPTER VIII. 

DISASTER OVERTAKES THE WOOD 
FAMILY. 

Our consolidated train continued its 
creeping pace down the meandering 
Humboldt; crossing the stream occa- 
sionally, to gain the advantage of a 
shorter or better road. 

Soon again there were other proofs 
of the wisdom we had shown in tak- 
ing every possible precaution against 
attack. 

Next ahead of us was a family from 
England, a Mr. Wood, his wife and 
one child, with two men employed as 
drivers. They were outfitted with 
three vehicles, two of them drawn by 
ox teams, in charge of the hired men, 
and a lighter, spring-wagon, drawn by 

[116] 



Danger Near 

four mules, the family conveyance, 
driven by Mr. Wood. We had not 
known them before. 

One very hot day in the latter part 
of August, after having moved along 
for a time with no train in sight ahead 
of us, we came upon Mr. Wood in a 
most pitiable plight, the result of an 
attack and slaughter, not differing 
greatly from the Holloway case, and 
its parallel in atrocity. 

Mr. Wood's party had spent the pre- 
ceding night undisturbed, and were up 
early in the morning, preparing to 
resume their journey. The ox teams 
had been made ready and moved on, 
while Mr. Wood proceeded in a leis- 
urely way with harnessing the four 
mules and attaching them to the 
smaller wagon. All the articles of 
their equipment had been gathered up 
and placed in proper order in the 
wagon. 

When Mr. Wood had nearly com- 
pleted hitching the team, Mrs. Wood 

[117] 



Crossing the Plains 

and the baby being already in the 
wagon, some men, apparently all 
Indians, twenty or more of them, were 
seen coming on horseback, galloping 
rapidly from the hills to the northward, 
about half a mile away. 

Mr. Wood, fearing that he and his 
family were about to be attacked, in 
this lonely situation, hurriedly sprang 
to the wagon seat and whipped up the 
mules, hoping that before the attack 
they could come within sight of the ox 
Vv^agons, which had rounded the point 
of a hill but a few minutes before, and 
have such aid as his hired men could 
give. 

He had no more than got the team 
under way when a wheel came off the 
wagon — he having probably overlooked 
replacing the nut after oiling the axle. 
Notwithstanding this he lost no time 
in making the best of the circum- 
stances. Jumping to the ground, he 
hurriedly placed Mrs. Wood on one 
of the mules, cutting the harness to 

[118] 



The Attack 

release the animal from the wagon; 
then, with the baby in his arms, he 
mounted another mule, and they 
started flight. 

But the Indians had by this time 
come within gun-shot range and fired 
upon them. Mrs. Wood fell from the 
mule, fatally shot. Mr. Wood's mule 
was shot under him, and dropped ; next 
Mr. Wood received a bullet in the right 
arm, that opened the flesh from wrist 
to elbow. That or another shot killed 
the child. Amidst a shower of bullets, 
Mr. Wood ran in the direction taken 
by his ox wagons. Getting past the 
point of the low hill that lay just be- 
fore him without being struck again, 
he was then beyond range of the firing, 
and soon overtook his wagons. His 
men, with all the guns they had, re- 
turned, to find the woman and child 
dead on the ground. One of the mules 
was dead, one wounded, the other two 
gone. The wagon had been ransacked 
of its contents, and the band of assas- 

[119] 



Crossing the Plains 

sins were making their way back into 
the hills whence they had come. 

This small wagon, Mr. Wood said, 
had contained the family effects; and 
among them were several articles of 
considerable value, all of which had 
been taken. Among his property were 
pieces of English gold coin, the equiv- 
alent of fifteen hundred dollars. It 
had been concealed in the bottom of 
the wagon-box, and he had supposed 
the band would overlook it; but that, 
too, was gone. 

Such was the plight in which our 
company found the man, soon after 
this tragedy was so swiftly enacted, 
and which so effectually bereft him 
of all, his family and his property, 
leaving him wounded, and dependent 
on the mercy of strangers. 

The dead were placed in mummy- 
form v/rappings and buried, mother 
and child in one, unmarked grave. 

When the manuscript of this narra- 
tive was first made ready for the 
ri20] 



A Gruesome Detail 

printer, the description of the calamity 
which befell Mr. Wood and his family 
ended here. There were other details, 
as clearly recalled as those already 
recited, but so atrocious and devoid of 
motive, that it v/as a matter of grave 
doubt whether the facts should be 
given. It seemed too deplorable that 
such an occurrence could be recorded 
as the act of human beings; further- 
more, would it be credible? It has 
been intimated that the present en- 
deavor is to give a complete history of 
events as they occurred: no material 
item suppressed, nothing imaginary 
included; therefore the remaining 
details are given. 

Incredible as it may sound to civil- 
ized ears, after the bodies of Mrs. 
Wood and her child had been interred, 
hardly had those who performed this 
service gone from the spot when a part 
of the savage band that had murdered 
those innocent victims, rushed wildly 
back to the place, disinterred the bodies 

[121] 



Crossing the Plains 

from the shallow grave, taking the 
sheets in which the bodies had been 
wrapped, and which were their only 
covering, and carrying those articles 
away. When the Indians had gone a 
second time, the grief-stricken Mr. 
Wood returned and reinterred the 
remains of his wife and child. 

Mr. Wood's wounded arm was 
dressed by Dr. Maxwell and Dr. Kidd, 
his wagons were placed in the lead of 
our train, and again we moved west- 
ward. 



[122 



CHAPTER IX. 

MYSTERIOUS VISITORS. EXTRA SENTRIES. 
AN ANXIOUS NIGHT. 

The next following day, as we 
wended our way among the sand 
dunes, alkali flats and faded sage- 
brush, there came to us — whence we 
knew not — three men, equipped with a 
small wagon, covered with white duck- 
ing, arched over bows, similar to the 
covering on most of the emigrant wag- 
ons; drawn by two large, handsome, 
well-harnessed horses; all having a 
well-to-do appearance, that made our 
dusty, travel-worn outfits look very 
cheap and inferior. 

They told us that they were moun- 
taineers, of long experience on the 
plains; well acquainted with the In- 
dians and familiar with their habits 
and savage proclivities. They said 

[123 1 



Crossing the Plains 

that the Shoshone Indians were very 
angry at the white people who were 
passing through their lands; that this 
hostility recently had been further 
aroused by certain alleged acts of the 
whites along the emigrant road; and 
that the feeling was now so intense 
that even they, our informants, were 
alarmed, notwithstanding their long, 
intimate and friendly intercourse with 
these Indians; and, believing them- 
selves no longer safe among the tribe, 
they were anxious to get out of the 
Shoshone country; therefore they re- 
quested the privilege of placing them- 
selves under the protection of our large 
train until we should have passed out 
of the Shoshone lands and into those of 
the Pah-Utes, which tribe they said 
was known to be friendly toward the 
white race. 

One of these men was a specially 
picturesque figure ; weighty, with large, 
square shoulders ; well-formed head ; 
full, brown beard, cropped short. He 

[1241 



Our Proteges 

wore a deer-skin blouse, leathern 
breeches ; broad, stiff-brimmed hat, low 
crown, flat top, decorated with a tas- 
seled leather band; a fully-loaded am- 
munition belt — a combination make-up 
of cowboy, mountaineer and highway- 
man. 

The three men spoke plain English, 
with a free use of ''frontier adjectives/* 

Having received permission to take 
temporary protection by traveling near 
us, they placed themselves at the rear 
of our train, and that night pitched 
camp slightly apart from our circle of 
wagons. 

Some of our men visited them dur- 
ing the evening, eager to hear their 
tales of adventure; and listened, open- 
mouthed, to descriptions of life among 
savage associations, in the mountain 
wilds, jungles and the desert plains. 

The visitors dwelt with emphasis on 
the threatening attitude of the Sho- 
shone Indians towards the emigrants; 
warning us that our position was 

[125 1 



Crossing the Plains 

hazardous, with caution that there was 
special risk incurred by individuals 
who wandered away from the train, 
thus inviting a chance of being shot 
by Redskins, ambushed among the 
bunches of sagebrush. They were 
especially earnest as they assured us of 
the peril there would be in loitering 
away from the body of the company, 
as they had noticed some of our boys 
doing, that day, while hunting for 
sage fowls. 

After awhile, he of the big hat in- 
quired — and seemed almost to tremble 
with solicitude as he spoke : 

**Are you prepared to defend your- 
selves, in case of an attack?^^ 

Here unpleasant surmises gave place 
to distinct suspicions in the minds of 
some of our older men. They regarded 
that question as a "Give-away.'' All 
the day, since these three joined us, we 
had felt that they might be spies, and 
in league with the Indians. So now 
not a few of us were giving closest 

[126] 



Awaiting Encounter 

attention, both with ears and eyes. 

An answer was ready: That we 
were prepared, and waiting for the en- 
counter; with a hundred and twenty- 
five shots for the first round; that we 
could reload as rapidly as could the 
Indians; and had ammunition in store 
for a long siege. 

The actual fact was that, although 
every man of us had some sort of a 
''shooting-iron,'' they were not for- 
midable. In kind, these varied well 
through the entire range of infantry, 
from a four-inch six-shooter to a four- 
foot muzzle-loader, and from a single- 
barreled shotgun on up to a Sharp's 
repeating rifle. The weapon last men- 
tioned carried a rotating cylinder, for 
five shells, and was the latest thing in 
quick- fire repeating arms of that time : 
but there was only one of that class in 
the train. Had we been seen on mus- 
ter, standing at ''present arms," the 
array would have been less terrifying 
than comical. 

[127] 



Crossing the Plains 

Just how our visitors received our 
bluff with reference to preparedness 
for battle we could not know. The 
next morning these mysterious stran- 
gers took position in the rear of our 
train once more, carrying a small white 
flag, mounted on a pole fastened to 
their wagon. Upon being asked the 
purpose of the flag they replied that it 
served as a signal to any one of their 
number who might go beyond view, 
enabling him to determine the location 
of the wagon. 

Captain John reminded them that, 
according to their statements, wander- 
ing out of sight was too hazardous to 
be done or considered; adding that 
therefore there did not seem to be any 
need of the flag, and he wanted it to 
be taken down. 

It came down. 

During the noon-hour stop that day, 
while the doctors were dressing Mr. 
Wood's wounded arm, he obtained a 
first look at our three proteges. He at 

[128] 



A Grave Charge 

once indicated the man wearing the 
big, brown hat, and stated, excitedly 
but confidentially, to those of our 
company who were near him : 

''I believe that man was with the 
Indians who killed my wife and child/' 

That statement naturally created a 
much greater feeling of uneasiness 
among us. The assertion was whis- 
pered around; and every man of us 
became a detective. The leading men 
of our party put their heads together 
in council. The situation was more 
than ever grave and the suspense dis- 
tinctly painful. We feared something 
tragic would happen any hour. 

Mr. Wood was asked to obtain an- 
other view of the man and endeavor to 
make his statement more definite, if he 
could. His wound, and the terrible 
shock he had sustained two days pre- 
viously, had so prostrated him that he 
was unable to make haste. Arrange- 
ments were made to disguise him and 
have him go where he could obtain a 

[129] 



Crossing the Plains 

good view of the three men, but his 
condition prevented it. 

Later in the afternoon the three- 
men-afraid-of-Indians announced that 
we had passed out of the territory of 
the savage Shoshones; they felt it 
would be safe for them to dispense 
with our kind escort, therefore, after 
camping near us that night, they would 
withdraw and bid us a thankful good- 
bye. 

We camped that night on a level 
place, where there was sage-brush 
three or four feet high, and thick 
enough to make good cover for an 
enemy. Our people, having become 
thoroughly distrustful of the three men 
who had made themselves appendages 
of our train, feared an attack would 
be made on our camp that night. Sus- 
picion had developed into a fixed belief 
that the trio were confederates of the 
Shoshones, and had come to us under 
a pretense of fear on their part, in 
order to spy out the fighting strength 
of our company. 

[130] 



The Night-watch 

The place where they halted their 
wagon and prepared to spend the night 
was not more than a hundred yards 
from where our vehicles were ar- 
ranged, in the usual hollow circle, with 
the camp-fire and the people inclosed. 

When darkness set in, guards of our 
best men, armed with the most effective 
guns we had, were quietly distributed 
about the camp, the chosen men crawl- 
ing on their hands and knees to their 
allotted positions, in order that the 
three strangers should not know our 
arrangements. There was an under- 
standing that, if there should be an 
attack during the night, the first thing 
to do was, if possible, to shoot those 
three men; for, under the circum- 
stances, any attack occurring that 
night would be deemed completion of 
proof that they were responsible for it 
and for any atrocity that might follow 
or be attempted. 

The night passed without notable 
happening — except that at the break of 

[131] 



Crossing the Plains 

day the three men and their wagon 
silently stole away. 

There was a feeling of great relief 
on being rid of them; but there re- 
mained some apprehension of their 
turning up at some unguarded moment 
and unpleasant place, to make us trou- 
ble; for their absence did not remove 
the impression that they had come 
among us to gauge our desirability as 
prey and the feasibility of overpow- 
ering our entire train. 



[132 



CHAPTER X. 

CHALLENGE TO BATTLE. 

We divided our long train into two 
parts, leaving a short space between 
the sections. Mr. Wood's two wagons 
headed the forward part. Toward the 
close of the day on which this change 
of arrangement was made, the forward 
section turned off the road a short 
distance before stopping to make camp, 
and the rear section passed slightly 
beyond the first, left the road and 
halted, so that a double camp was 
formed, with the two sections thus 
placed for the night in relative posi- 
tions the reverse of the order they had 
maintained during the day. 

At night-fall, when supper was over 
and everything at rest, we saw three 
horsemen going westward on the emi- 
grant road. When they were opposite 
the Maxwell, or forward, camp, as the 

[133] 



Crossing the Plains 

train sections had been placed, these 
men turned from the road and came 
toward us. We soon recognized them 
as our late guests on the way: he of 
the big hat and his two companions. 

Riding into our camp, one of them 
remarked that they now observed the 
change made in arrangement of our 
train, explaining that they had in- 
tended to call on the Englishman, whose 
place had been in the lead. They apol- 
ogized for their mistake. The first 
speaker added that they had heard it 
stated that this English gentleman had 
charged one of their number with being 
in company with the Indians who killed 
his wife, at the time of the tragedy, a 
few days before. 

He of the big, brown hat then as- 
sumed the role of spokesman, and said : 

*'I understand that he indicated me, 
by description ; and if that man says I 
was with the Indians who killed his 
wife, I will kill him. Let him say it, 

and I will shoot him down like a dog, 

ri34i 



Tooly's Threat 

that he is. I am here to demand of 
him if he said it/' 

Another of the three said, in a tone 
of conciliation : 

**We are honest men. We came out 
here from Stockton, California, where 
we live, to meet the emigrants as they 
come over from the States. We buy 
their weak and disabled stock, such as 
cannot finish the trip to the Coast; 
take the animals onto range that we 
know of, and in the fall, when they are 
recuperated, we drive them in for the 
California market.^' 

The man under the large hat re- 
sumed : 

"My name is James Tooly. My part- 
ners here, are two brothers, named 
Hawes. And now, if that Englishman, 
or any one among you, says I was with 
the Indians who killed his wife, I will 
shoot him who says it, right here 
before you all.'' 

This was said with much vehemence, 
and punctuated with many oaths. 

[135] 



Crossing the Plains 




Van Diveer's advantage was slight, sut sufficient 



Mr. Drennan, of our combined com- 
pany, replied: 

''If you want to talk like that, go 
where the man is. We don't want that 

[136] 



The Challenge Met 

kind of language used here, in the 
presence of our women and children/' 

Tooly, standing erect, high in his 
stirrups, drew a large pistol from its 
holster and swung it above his head. 

''I will say what I please, where I 
please; and I don't care who likes it," 
roared Tooly, waving his pistol in air. 

W. J. Van Diveer, a young man of 
the Drennan company, who had been 
sitting on a wagon-tongue near the 
speaker, leaped to his feet, with a 
pistol leveled at the big horseman's 
head, and with a manner that left no 
doubt that he meant what he said, 
shouted : 

'Til be damned if you can do that 
here. Now, you put down your gun, 
and go.'' 

The muzzle of Van Diveer's pistol 
was within an arm's-length of Tooly, 
aiming steadily at his head. Tooly was 
yet with pistol in hand but not quite in 
position for use of it on his adversary. 
Van Diveer's advantage was slight, but 

[137] 



Crossing the Plains 

sufficient for the occasion. Tooly's 
companions did not act, appearing to 
await his orders, and, in the sudden- 
ness of this phase of the scene, Tooly 
found no voice for commands. Others 
of our men made ready on the instant, 
believing that a battle was on. 

It was averted, however. Tooly 
replaced his pistol in the holster, 
saying: 

''Vv^ell, of course — as you say, my 
pie is over yonder. I don't want to 
kill 2J0U fellows." 

And he didn't. The three rode over 
to the other group of our men, among 
whom was Mr. Wood. All of these 
had overheard what had just been said, 
and felt sure they knew what was 
coming. 

Mr. Wood, grief-stricken, disabled, 
stood, pale and fearful, amongst the 
party of timid emigrants, all strangers 
to him; he the only man probably in 
the camp without a weapon on his 

1138] 



The Enemy Retreats 

person, his torn arm in a sling across 
his chest. 

The big fellow made his statement 
again, as he had made it to us; with 
the same emphatic threat to kill, if he 
could induce Wood or any one to speak 
out and affirm the charge of Tooly's 
complicity with the Indians. 

Tooly got off his horse and, pistol in 
hand, walked among the party; many 
of whom surely did tremble in their 
boots. He declared again, as he 
stalked about, that he would shoot the 
hapless Wood, ''like a dog'', or any 
one who would repeat the charge. 

There were but a few men in that 
part of the camp when Tooly com- 
menced this second tirade, in the pres- 
ence of Wood; but soon more came 
from the other part of the train. 

Mr. Wood, in a condition as helpless 
as if with hands and feet bound, real- 
izing his situation, and his responsi- 
bility, maintained silence: a silence 

[139] 



Crossing the Plains 

more eloquent than speech, since a 
single word from him in confirmation 
of the charge he had made would have 
precipitated a battle, in which he, most 
certainly, and probably others, includ- 
ing some of his benefactors, would 
have been killed. 

Then Tooly saw that a goodly num- 
ber of men had arrived from the other 
section of the camp, and were watch- 
ing to see what would happen ; some of 
these viewing the scene with attitude 
and looks that boded no good for the 
man who held the center of the arena. 

Tooly's threatening talk ceased. 
Still Wood said nothing. In silence, 
Tooly mounted his horse, and with his 
fellows rode away, leaving the party 
of emigrants — most of them terror- 
stricken, some angry — standing dumb, 
looking at one another, and at the 
retreating three until they went out of 
sight, in the dusk of the desert night- 
fall: stood there on the sage-brush 
sward, a tableau of silent dumbfound- 

[140 1 



Intrigue Suspicioned 

edness; for how long none knew; each 
waiting for something to break the 
spell. 

'1 feel like a fool/' exclaimed Van 
Diveer. 

''But/' spoke Drennan, the older and 
more conservative leader of their party, 
"we couldn't start an open battle with 
those fellows without some of us being 
killed. They are gone; we should be 
glad that they are. It is better to bear 
the insult than have even one of our 
people shot." 

'Tm glad they left no bullets 

in me — 
Ulee, ilee, aloo, ee; 
Courting, down in Tennessee." 

This paraphrasing of his favorite 
ditty was, of course, perpetrated by 
''Jack." 

But we all wished we knew. Was it 
true that these men were conspirators 
with the Indians who had been rav- 
aging the emigrant trains? If so, 
doubtless they would be concerned in 

f 1411 



Crossing the Plains 

other and possibly much more disas- 
trous assaults, and perhaps soon. If 
so, who would be the next victims? 

But Mr. Wood was still too indefinite 
in his identification of the man Tooly — 
at least in his statement of it — to clear 
away all doubt, or even, as yet, to 
induce the majority of our men to act 
on the judgment of some: that we 
should follow these plainsmen, learn 
more, and have it out with them. 

There were many circumstances 
pointing not only to the connection of 
these men with the assault on Mr. 
Wood's family, but to the probability of 
their having been responsible for the 
slaughter of the Holloway party. It 
seemed improbable that there were two 
bands of Indians operating along that 
part of the Humboldt River in the 
looting of emigrant trains. If it could 
be proved that white men co-operated 
with the savages in the Wood case, 
the inference would be strong that the 
same white men had been accessories 

[142] 



Accusing Circumstances 

in the Holloway massacre. The use of 
guns in those attacks, and the evident 
abundance of ammunition in the hands 
of the Indians, went far toward prov- 
ing the connection of white men with 
both these cases. 



[143] 



CHAPTER XI. 

SAGEBRUSH JUSTICE. 

The Sink of the Humboldt is a lake 
of strong, brackish water, where the 
river empties into the natural basin, 
formed by the slant of the surrounding 
district of mountains, plain and desert, 
and where some of the water sinks into 
the ground and much of it evaporates, 
there being no surface outlet. In the 
latter part of the summer the water is 
at a very low stage, and stronger in 
mineral constituents. There we found 
the daytime heat most intense. 

The land that is exposed by the re- 
ceding water during the hottest period 
of the fall season becomes a dry, crack- 
ling waste of incrusted slime, curling 
up in the fierce sunshine, and readily 
crushed under foot, like frozen snow. 
The yellowish-white scales reflect the 

[144] 



The Trading Post 

sunlight, producing a painful effect on 
the eyes. Not many feet wander to 
this forbidding sea of desolation. 

At the border of this desert lake, a 
few feet higher than the water, is a 
plateau of sand, covered with sage- 
brush and stones. We were there in 
the last week of August. Fresh water 
was not to be had except at a place a 
half-mile from our camp, where there 
was a seepage spring. There we filled 
our canteens and buckets with enough 
for supper and breakfast. The animals 
had to endure the night without water. 

Not far from the spring was situated 
a rude shack, known as ''Black's Trad- 
ing Post." This establishment was 
constructed of scraps of rough lumber, 
sticks, stones and cow-hides. With 
Mr. Black were two men, said to be his 
helpers — helpers in what, did not ap- 
pear. The principal stock in trade was 
a barrel of whisky — reported to be of 
very bad quality — some plug tobacco, 
and — not much else. Black's prices 

[ 145 ] 



Crossing the Plains 

were high. A sip from the barrel cost 
fifty cents. It was said to be an 
antidote for alkali poisoning. 

Some of our men visited this empo- 
rium of the desert, and there they 




"A sip from rhe barrel cost fifty cents" 

found ^^Jim'' Tooly. The barrel had 
been tapped in his behalf, and he was 
loquacious; appearing also to be quite 
''at home'' about the Post. His two 
companions of our recent acquaintance 
were not there. The ''antidote'' was 
working; Tooly was in good spirits, 
and eloquent. He did not appear to 

[146] 



An Improvised Court 

recognize those of our people who were 
visiting the place; but they knew him. 
There were other persons present from 
the camps of two or three companies of 
emigrants, but strangers to us, who 
were also stopping for the night at 
the margin of the Sink. 

Tooly assumed an air of comrade- 
ship toward all, addressing various in- 
dividuals as 'Tartner'' and '^Neigh- 
bor''; but his obvious willingness to 
hold the center of the stage made it 
clear that he deemed himself the 
important personage of the community. 

Some things he said were self-in- 
criminating. He boasted of having 
'^done up a lot of Pikers, up the creek,*' 
declaring his intention to ^^look up 
another lot of suckers'' the following 
day. 

When our men thought that they had 
heard enough they returned to camp 
and reported. 

Recollections of the last time we 
had seen Mr. Tooly made the present 

[147 1 



Crossing the Plains 

occasion seem opportune. An im- 
promptu ''court'' was organized: judge, 
sheriff and deputies; and these, with a 
few chosen men of the company, went 
to the trading post to convene an after- 
noon session. The members of this 
''court'' dropped in quietly, one or two 
at a time, looked over the place, asked 
questions — about the country; the 
prices of Mr. Black's "goods" ; how far 
it might be to Sacramento ; anything to 
be sociable : but none offered to tap the 
barrel. 

The stranger emigrants had heard of 
the Indian raids up the river. Seem- 
ing to have inferred something of 
pending events, they had gone to the 
trading post in considerable numbers. 
Tooly was still there. Black and his 
two men seemed to be persons who 
ordinarily would be classed as honest. 
Still, they appeared to listen to Tooly's 
tales of prowess in the looting of emi- 
grant trains as if they regarded such 
proceedings as acts of exceptional 

[148] 



Without Technicalities 

valor; exhibiting as much interest in 
the recital as did the ''tenderfoot' emi- 
grants — who held a different opinion 
regarding those adventures. 

When enough had been heard to 
warrant the finding of an indictment, 
the newly-appointed judge issued a 
verbal order of arrest, and the sheriff 
and his deputies quickly surrounded 
the accused, before he suspected any- 
thing inimical to his personal welfare. 
With revolver in hand, the sheriff com- 
manded, ''Hands up, 'Jim' Tooly!" To 
the astonishment of all, the big man 
raised both hands, without protest; 
this, however, in mock obedience, as 
was evident by his laughing at the 
supposed fun. 

*'This is not a joke, sir," came in 
harsh tones from the judge. "When 
we saw you last, about sixteen days 
ago, you came to our camp to deny a 
charge made against you by a man of 
our company. You overawed, brow- 
beat and insulted the man and those 

f 149 1 



Crossing the Plains 

who were assisting and protecting him 
in his distress. You denied the accusa- 
tion made against you, with vehemence 
and much profanity. Giving you the 
benefit of a doubt, we permitted you 
to go. Now we are here to take the 
full statement of the prosecuting wit- 
ness, and examxine such other evidence 
as there may be. We will clear you 
if we can, or find you guilty if we 
must." 

In whatever direction the culprit 
looked he gazed into the open end of 
a gun or pistol. The sheriff said : 

*^Now, Tooly, any motion of resist- 
ance will cost you your life.'' 

A disinterested onlooker at the mo- 
ment would have cringed, lest the un- 
accustomed duty of some deputy should 
so unnerve his hand that he would 
inadvertently and prematurely pull the 
trigger of his weapon. But all held 
sufficiently steady, as they looked 
through the sights. 

The prisoner slowly grasped the sit- 

[150 1 



Search Warrant 

uation, and knew that temporary 
safety lay in obedience. The sheriff's 
demand for Tooly's weapons created 
more surprise, when it was revealed 
that, in his feeling of security while 
at the Post, he had relieved himself of 
those encumbering articles and depos- 
ited them with the landlord, that he 
might have freedom from their weight 
while enjoying the hospitality of the 
place. 

Thus his captors had him as a tiger 
with teeth and claws drawn. His 
weapons, when brought out from the 
hut for examination, were found to be 
two pistols, of the largest size and most 
dangerous appearance, in a leathern 
holster, the latter made to carry on the 
pommel of a saddle, in front of the 
rider. These, also his saddle and other 
trappings, were searched for evidence; 
but, except the pistols, nothing was 
found that tended to throw any further 
light on the question of his guilt or 
innocence. 

[151] 



Crossing the Plains 

Tooly was then taken, under a heavy 
guard, to a spot some distance from 
the Post, where the court reconvened, 
for the purpose of completing the trial. 

His captors had, with good reason, 
reckoned Tooly as like a beast of the 
jungle, who, when put at bay, would 
resort to desperate fighting; but, hav- 
ing been caught thus unawares and 
unarmed, violence on his part or re- 
sistance of any kind, was useless. He 
was doubtless feigning meekness, hop- 
ing for an opportunity to escape. 

A jury was selected, mostly from the 
stranger emigrants. 

The improvised court sat on ^n 
alkali flat near the margin of the lake, 
where there were some large stones 
and clumps of sage-brush. There 
Tooly was confronted by Mr. Wood, 
still with bandaged arm. Tooly de- 
clared he had never before seen the 
Englishman, but Wood said he had 
seen Tooly, and now reaflnirmed his 
belief that the prisoner was one of the 

[152] 



Final Evidence 

persons who, some weeks previously, 
had ridden with the Indians who killed 
Mrs. Wood and the child, also wounded 
and robbed the witness. 

Still the evidence was not deemed 
sufficiently positive or complete, the 
identity being in some doubt. The jury 
would not convict without conclusive 
proof. With the view of procuring fur- 
ther evidence, the judge ordered that 
the person of the prisoner be searched. 

Hearing this mandate, Tooly first 
made some sign of an intention to re- 
sist — only a slight start, as if possibly 
contemplating an effort to break 
through the cordon of untrained 
guards. 

''Gentlemen,'' ordered the sheriff, 
''keep, every m_an, his eye on this fel- 
low, and his finger on the trigger." 
Then to the prisoner, 

"Stand, sir, or you will be reduced 
to the condition of a "good IndianM'' 

Escape as yet appeared impossible, 
and Tooly must have finally come to a 

[153 1 



Crossing the Plains 

definite realization that he was in the 
hands of men who meant business, 
most earnestly. Bravado had ceased 
to figure in his conduct. It was ap- 
parent that the search for evidence 
was narrowing its field; the erstwhile 
minions of frontier justice were on the 
right scent. Tooly grew pallid of fea- 
ture and his cheeks hollowed percept- 
ibly, in a moment. There was a wild 
glare in his eyes, as they turned from 
side to side; fear, hatred, viciousness, 
mingled in every glance. He crouched, 
not designedly, but as if an involuntary 
action of the muscles drew him to- 
gether. His fists were clenched; his 
mouth partly opened, as if he would 
speak, but could not. 

Thus he stood, half erect, while the 
officer searched his clothing. The ex- 
amination disclosed that, secured in a 
buckskin belt, worn under his outer 
garments, there was English gold coin, 
to the value of five hundred dollars; 
just one-third of the amount that Mr. 

[154] 



''Guilty'' 

Wood declared he had lost at the time 
of the robbery. What became of the 
other two-thirds of Mr. Wood's money 
was readily inferred, but full proof of 
it was not necessary to this case. 

Tooly's trial was closed. The only 
instruction the court gave the jury 
was, "Gentlemen, you have heard the 
testimony and seen the evidence; what 
is your verdict?^' 

The answer came, as the voice of 
one man, "Guilty.^' 

During the entire proceeding, at the 
post and down by the lake, the judge 
sat astride his mule. Addressing the 
prisoner once more from his elevated 
'^bench,'' he said: 

''Mr. Tooly, you are found guilty of 
the murder of Mrs. Wood and her 
child, the wounding of Mr. Wood, and 
robbery of his wagon. Mr. Wood has 
from the first stated his belief that 
you were with, and the leader of, the 
band of Indians which attacked his 
party. You afterwards denied it; but 

[155 1 



Crossing the Plains 

now, in addition to his almost positive 
identification, and many circumstances 
pointing to your guilt, you are found 
with the fruits of that robbery on your 
person. Have you anything to say?'' 




" 'Stop,' shouted the Judge" 

Tooly was ashy pale, and speechless. 
Absolute silence reigned for a time, as 
the court awaited the prisoner's reply, 
if by any means he could offer some 
explanation, some possible extenuating 
circumstance, that might affect the 
judgment to be pronounced. None 
came, and the judge continued : 

[156] 



Exit Tooly 

''You can have your choice, to be 
shot, or hanged to the uplifted tongue 
of a wagon. Which do you choose?'' 

Tooly took the risk of immediate 
death, in seeking one last, desperate 
chance for life. Instantly he turned 
half around, crouched for a spring, 
and, seemingly by one single leap, went 
nearly past the rock-pile, so that it 
partly covered his retreat. Quick as 
his movements were, they were not 
swifter than those of the men whose 
duty was to prevent his escape. 

''Stop, Tooly,'' shouted the judge, 
sitting astride his mule, as his long 
right arm went out to a level, aiming 
his big Colt's revolver at the fleeing 
man. 

"Shoot, boys," commanded the sheriff 
at the same instant; a chorus of shots 
sounded, and the court's sentence was 
executed. 

Complying with the request of the 
judge, the sheriff had a hole dug near 

fl57 1 



Crossing the Plains 

where the body lay, and the dead man 
was buried, sans ceremonie. 

The court returned to the trading 
post and requested the proprietor to 
state what he knew of Tooly. Mr. 
Black declared he only knew that the 
accused plainsman came to the post 
that day; that he bought and drank a 
considerable quantity of whisky, and 
offered to treat several passing emi- 
grants, all of whom declined. 

The English gold found upon the 
prisoner was returned to Mr. Wood, 
and the incident was closed. 

The trial had been as orderly and 
impartial as the proceedings in any 
court established by constitutional 
authority. All those concerned in it 
realized that they were performing a 
duty of grave importance. There was 
nothing of vindictiveness, nothing of 
rashness. It was without ''due pro- 
cess,'^ and it was swift; a proceeding 
without the delays commonly due to 
technicalities observed in a legal tri- 

[158] 



Deplorable Necessity 

bunal ; but it was justice conscientiously 
administered, without law — an action 
necessary under the circumstances. 
Its justification was fully equal to that 
of similar services performed by the 
Vigilance Committee, in San Fran- 
cisco, within a year preceding. It was 
a matter the necessity of which was 
deplorable, but the execution of which 
was imposed upon those who were on 
the spot and uncovered the convincing 
facts. 



[159] 



CHAPTER XII. 

NIGHT TRAVEL, FROM ARID WASTES TO 
LIMPID WATERS. 

From the Sink of the Humboldt the 
little Darby party wished to complete 
the trip by the Carson Route, thus sep- 
arating from the majority, but their 
supplies were exhausted and they had 
now but one ox and one cow to draw 
their wagon. A suggestion, that those 
who could spare articles of food should 
divide with the needy, was no sooner 
made than acted upon. Sides of bacon, 
sacks of flour and other substantials 
were piled into their little vehicle, and 
the owners of the two oxen which had 
been loaned Darby simply said, ^Take 
them along; you need them more than 
we do.'' Danny, alias ''Gravy'' Wor- 
ley, being of that party, showed his 
delight, by sparkling eyes and beaming 

[160] 



Helping the Needy 

fat face, when he saw the abundance 
of edibles turned over to his people. 
Mr. Darby shed genuine tears of grati- 
tude, as we bade them good-bye and 
drove away by another route. 

The combination train was further 
divided, each party shaping its farther 
course according to the location of its 
final stop. The Drennans took the 
Carson Route, the Maxwell train pro- 
ceeding by the more northerly, Truckee, 
trail. The associations of the plains, 
closer cemented by the sharing of many 
hardships and some pleasures, had 
created feelings almost equal to kin- 
ship, more binding than those of many 
a life-long neighborhood relation. So 
there were deep regrets at parting. 

On leaving the Sink of the Humboldt 
there was before us a wholly desert 
section, forty miles wide. The course 
led southwesterly, over flat, barren 
lands, with a line of low hills, abso- 
lutely devoid of vegetation, on our 
right. This was known to be one of 

[161] 



Crossing the Plains 

the hard drives of our long journey; 
but hearsay knowledge was also to the 
effect that, at its farther border, we 
would reach the Truckee River, and 
soon thereafter ascend the Sierra 
Nevada Mountains. The prospect of 
seeing again a river of pure water, and 
fresh, green trees, had a buoyant effect 
on our lagging hopes; and these were 
further stimulated by the information 
that not long after entering these forest 
shades we would cross the State line 
into California. 

While crossing the forty miles of 
desert, the sun-baked silt, at the be- 
ginning, and later the deep, dry sand, 
made heavy going. To avoid the al- 
most intolerable heat of day as much 
as possible, and it being known that 
water was not obtainable, during this 
much-dreaded bit of travel, we deferred 
the start until mid-afternoon, and 
traveled all night. 

The impressions of that night ride 
were most extraordinary. As the sun 

[162] 



Weird Impressions 

sank, and twilight shaded into night, 
the atmosphere was filled with a hazy 
dimness; not merely fog, nor smoke, 
nor yet a pall of suspended dust, but 
rather what one might expect in a 
blending of those three. Only a tinge 
of moonlight from above softened the 
dull hue. It was not darkness as night 
usually is dark. It was an impene- 
trable, opaque narrowing of the hori- 
zon, and closing in of the heavens 
above us; which, as we advanced, con- 
stantly shifted its boundary, retaining 
us still in the center of the great 
amphitheater of half -night. We could 
see one another, but beyond or above 
the encompassing veil all was mystery, 
even greater mystery than mere dark- 
ness. No moon nor stars visible; 
nothing visible but just part of our- 
selves, and ours. 

As the night merged into morning, 
the sunlight gradually dispelled the 
mantle of gloom from our immediate 
presence ; but still we could not see out. 

[163] 



Crossing the Plains 

As if inclosed in a great moving pavil- 
ion, on we went, guided only by the 
tracks of those who had gone before. 

In the after part of the night the 
loose cattle, having been for two nights 
and a day without water, and instinc- 
tively expecting an opportunity to 
drink, quickened their pace, passing the 
wagons; the stronger ones outgoing 
the weaker, till the drove was strung 
out two or three miles in length along 
the sandy trail. 

Some of the wise-heads in the com- 
pany were fearful that the cattle, on 
reaching the Truckee River, would 
drink too much. They detailed Luke 
Kidd and me to ride on our mules 
ahead of the foremost of the stock, and 
on reaching the river, permit none of 
the animals to drink more than a little 
water at a time. 

We went ahead during all that long 
morning, following what was surely, to 
us, the longest night that ever hap- 
pened, before or since. Most of the 

[164] 



Sighting the Sierras 

other members of our party were in 
the wagons, and they, except the 
drivers, slept soundly; rocked gently, 
very gently, by the slow grinding of 
the wheels in the soft, deep sand. But 
Luke and I, on our little mules, must 
keep awake, and alert as possible, in 
readiness to hold back the cattle from 
taking too much water. 

From midnight to daybreak seemed 
a period amounting to entire days and 
nights; from dawn till sunrise, an 
epoch; and from sunrise to the time 
of reaching the river, as a period that 
would have no end. 

As the sun finally rose behind us, the 
faintest adumbration of the nearest 
ridges of the Sierras was discerned, in 
a dim, blue scroll across the western 
horizon, far ahead — how far it was 
useless to guess; and later, patches of 
snow about the peaks. 

The minutes were as hours; and their 
passing tantalized us: noting how the 
dim view grew so very slowly into 

[165 1 



Crossing the Plain? 

hazy outlines of mountains, and finally 
of tree-tops. 

On we labored, overcoming distance 
inch by inch; nodding in our saddles; 
occasionally dismounting, to shake off 
the almost overpowering grasp of sleep. 

Half awake, we dreamed of water, 
green trees, and fragrant flowers. Ris- 
ing hope, anon, took the place of long- 
deferred fruition, and we forgot for a 
moment how hard the pull was; till, 
with returning consciousness of thirst 
and painful drowsiness, we saw the 
landscape ahead presented still another, 
and another line of sand-dunes yet to 
be overcome. 

Luke and I reached the Truckee at 
nine o^clock in the forenoon, just ahead 
of the vanguard of cattle, and about 
three miles in advance of the foremost 
wagon. 

We tried to regulate the cattle's con- 
sumption of water, but did not prevent 
their drinking all they could hold. Ten 
men, on ten mules, could not have 

[166] 



The Truckee 

stopped one cow from plunging into 
that river, once she got sight of it, and 
remaining as long as she desired. We 
could not even prevent the mules we 
rode from rushing into it — that cold, 
rippling Truckee. Yet our elders had 
sent us two boys to hold back a hundred 
cattle, and make them drink in install- 
ments — in homeopathic doses, for their 
stomachs' sake. 

They dashed into the stream en 
masse ; and seeing the futility of inter- 
fering, we gladly joined the cattle, in 
the first good, long, cool swallow of 
clear, clean water, within a period of 
six weeks. 

Our little mules did not stop till 
they reached the middle of the river, 
and stuck their heads, ears and all, 
under the water. Luke's diminutive, 
snuflf-colored beast was so overcome by 
the sight and feel of water that she lay 
down in it, with him astride, giving 
herself and her master the first real 
bath since the time that she did the 

[167] 



Crossing the Plains 

same thing, in the Platte River, some 
three months previously. 

To us, the long-time sun-dried, 
thirsty emigrants; covered from head 
to foot with dust from the Black Hills, 
overlaid with alkali powder from the 
Humboldt, veneered with ashes of the 
desert; all ingrained by weeks of der- 
matic absorption, rubbed in by the 
wear of travel, polished by the friction 
of the wind — to us said the Truckee, 
flowing a hundred feet wide, trans- 
parent, deep, cool ; rattling and singing 
and splashing over the rocks; and the 
sparkle of its crystal purity, the music 
of its flow and the joy of its song, re- 
peated, ''Come and take a drink/^ 

We filled our canteens and went back 
to meet the others. We found them in 
a line three miles long; and it was well 
into the afternoon when the last wagon 
reached the river. 

The train crossed to the farther 
shore, into the grateful shade of the 
pine forest and there made camp. 

[168] 



The Happiest Camp 

What an enchanting spectacle was 
that scene of wooded hills, with its 
varying lights and shades, all about us ! 
From as far as we could see, up the 
heights and down to the river bank, 
where their roots were washed in the 
cool water, the great trees grew. 

We were still within the confines of 
Nevada, but two men were there with 
a wagon-load of fresh garden stuff, 
brought over from the foothills of Cali- 
fornia to sell to the emigrants: pota- 
toes, at fifty cents a pound, pickles, 
eight dollars a keg, and so on. We 
bought, and feasted. 

The camp that night by the Truckee 
River was the happiest of all. We 
had reached a place where green things 
grew in limitless profusion, where 
water flowed pure and free; and we 
were out of the desert and beyond the 
reach of the savage Redman. 



[169] 



CHAPTER XIII. 

INTO THE SETTLEMENTS. 
HALT. 

Having begun the ascent of the lofty 
and precipitous east slope of the Sierra 
Nevada Mountains, one night about 
the first of September the camp-site 
selected was at a spot said to be directly 
on the boundary line between Nevada 
and California. 

Lounging after supper about a huge 
bonfire of balsam pine, the travelers 
debated the question whether we were 
really at last within the limits of the 
Mecca toward which we had journeyed 
so patiently throughout the summer. 
While so engaged, the stillness, thereto- 
fore disturbed only by the murmur of 
our voices and occasional popping of 
the burning logs, was further dispelled 

[170] 



Yuba Dam 

for a few seconds by sounds as of 
shifting pebbles on the adjacent banks, 
accompanied by rustling of the foliage, 
waving of tall branches and tree-tops, 
and a gentle oscillation of the ground 
on which we rested. These manifesta- 
tions were new to our experience; but 
we had heard and read enough about 
the western country to hazard a 
guess as to the significance of the 
disturbance. 

''Jack,'^ aroused from his first early 
slumber of that particular evening, 
raised himself on an elbow, and as- 
serted, confidently: 

'That settles it; we are in Cali- 
fornia: that was an earthquake.'' 

Appearing already to have caught 
the universal feeling of western people 
regarding the matter of ^'quakes,'' he 
chuckled, in contemplation of his own 
perspicacity, and calmly resumed his 
recumbent attitude, and his nap. 

The summit of the Sierras was 
reached within about two days from 

[171] 



Crossing the Plains 

the commencement of the ascent. We 
met no people in these mountains until 
we had proceeded some distance down 
the westerly slope, and reached a min- 
ing camp, near a small, gushing stream, 
that poured itself over and between 
rocks in a tortuous gorge. 

The camp was a small cluster of 
rough shacks, built of logs, split boards 
and shakes. As if dropped there by 
accident, they were located without re- 
gard for any sort of uniformity. These 
were the bunk cabins of the miners; 
some of the diminutive structures being 
only of size sufficient to accommodate 
a cot, a camp-stool and a wash-basin. 
A larger cabin stood at about the center 
of the group, the joint kitchen and 
dining-room. 

As we drove into the ''town,^* the 
only person within view was a China- 
man, standing at the door. For most 
of us this was a first introduction to 
one of the yellow race. He was evi- 
dently the camp cook. 

[172] 



The Celestial Cook 

Major Crewdson approached the 
Celestial with the salutation: "Hello, 
John/' 

"Belly good/' was the reply. 




'Melican man dig gold' 



Having already heard it said that 
the invariable result of an untutored 
Chinaman's effort to pronounce any 
word containing an "r'' produced the 
sound of "r' instead, we thought little 
of that error in the attempt of this 
one to say "Very," but believed that 

[173] 



Crossing the Plains 

his substitution for the initial letter of 
that word was inexcusable. 

"What is the name of this place?" 
continued Crewdson. 

" 'Melican man dig gold." 

''Yes, I know that; but, this town, 
what do you call it?" 

"Yu-ba Dam," the Chinaman 
answered. 

This response was intended to be 
civil. Near by the Yuba River was 
spanned by a dam, for mining pur- 
poses, known as Yuba Dam, which gave 
the mining camp its name. 

Further on we came to the first 
house that we saw in California; and 
it was the first real house within our 
view since the few primitive structures 
at Nebraska City, on the west shore of 
the Missouri River, faded from our 
sight, the preceding spring. During 
a period of about four months our com- 
pany had traveled thousands of miles, 
through varying wilds, in all of which 
not one habitation, in form common to 

[174] 



The First House 

civilization, had been encountered. 
Seldom has civilized man journeyed a 
greater distance elsev^here, even in 
darkest Africa, v^ithout passing the 
conventional domicile of some member 




Pack-mule route to placer diggings 



of his own race. Long ago such an ex- 
perience became impossible in the 
United States. 

This house vv^as a small v^ayside inn, 
situated where a miners' trail crossed 
the emigrant route; a roughly-made, 
two-story, frame building, with a 

[175] 



Crossing the Plains 

corral adjoining; at which mule pack- 
trains stopped overnight, when carry- 
ing supplies from Sacramento and 
Marysville for miners working the gold 
placer diggings along the American and 
Yuba rivers. We camped beside the 
little hotel, and the next morning were 
for the first time permitted to enjoy a 
sample of the proverbially generous 
California hospitality, when the land- 
lord invited our entire company into 
his hostelry for breakfast. 

Our entrance into California was in 
Nevada County, thence through Placer, 
Sacramento, Solano and Napa, and 
into Sonoma. 

Over the last one hundred miles we 
saw evidences that the valleys, great 
and small, were rapidly filling with 
settlers. 

The last stream forded was the Rus- 
sian River, flowing southwesterly 
through Alexander Valley, to the sea. 
Having crossed to the western shore, 
our motley throng found itself in the 

[ 176 ] 



Final Unyoking 

settlement embracing the village of 
Healdsburg, an aggregation of perhaps 
a dozen or twenty houses. There our 
worn and weather-stained troop made 
its final halt; and the jaded oxen, on 
whose endurance and patient service so 
much — even our lives — ^had depended, 
were unyoked the last time, on Septem- 
ber seventeenth, just four months after 
the departure from the Missouri River. 
Considering all the circumstances of 
the journey, through two thousand 
miles of diversified wilderness, during 
which we rested each night in a dif- 
ferent spot; it seems providential that, 
on every occasion when the time came 
for making camp, a supply of water 
and fuel was obtainable. Without 
these essentials there would have been 
much additional suffering. Sometimes 
the supply was limited or inferior, 
sometimes both; especially during 
those trying times in the westerly por- 
tion of the Humboldt region; but we 
were never without potable water nor 

[ 177 ] 



Crossing the Plains 

fire, at least for the preparation of our 
evening meal. Nature had prepared 
the country for this great overland 
exodus from the populous East; a most 
important factor in the upbuilding of 
the rich western empire, theretofore so 
little known, but whose development of 
resources and accession of inhabitants 
since have been the world's greatest 
marvel for more than half a hundred 
years. 

As I look back, through the lapse of 
nearly sixty years, upon that toilsome 
and perilous journey, notwithstanding 
its numerous harrowing events, 
memory presents it to me as an itiner- 
ary of almost continuous excitement 
and wholesome enjoyment; a panorama 
that never grows stale; many of the 
incidents standing out to view on recol- 
lection's landscape as clear and sharp 
as the things of yesterday. That which 
was worst seems to have softened and 
lapsed into the half-forgotten, while 
the good and happy features have 

[178] 



Retrospect 

grown brighter and better with the 
passing of the years. 

Whether pioneers in the most techni- 
cal sense, we were early Californians, 
who learned full well what was meant 
by "Crossing the Plains." 

END. 



[179] 



LBJl ^if"! 



